When the Black Veil Flutters
by Belladonna Lee
Summary: Revision complete. DMHP Preslash. On the day when the dead walks amongst the living, Harry is falling into the strange mystery surrounding the possessed Draco Malfoy, and a darkness that rivals Tom Riddle.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter and its characters are not mine. The poem "Dejection: An Ode" belongs to Samuel Taylor Coleridge.

A/N: This is a revision of _When the Black Veil Flutters_ in its entirety. The revised version is completed on Oct 30, 2011.

**When the Black Veil Flutters**

_Prologue: "'Tis midnight, but small thoughts have I of sleep." [1]_

Candles burnt and wept in the windowless chamber where history was engraved on every stone. Wax red as pigeon blood dripped onto the floor and dried, adorning the stone floor with drops of opaque rubies. The flame in the fireplace crackled, throwing an ever writhing light upon the visage of a boy sitting cross-legged inside a magic circle made from chalk. Before him spread an assortment of items like mementos from a shrine for the departed, which, in a way, was precisely what it was.

A dagger stripped completely of adornment lay on one side. A bottle containing a crimson potion stood at the other end, encapsulating a blood sacrifice. Beside the bottle was a glossy black quill taken from a raven whose wings were clipped. At the centre was a silver pocket watch tarnished by age, its lid open to tell the time. An elder-wood wand lay prostrate directly before the boy. Nevertheless, those conflicted grey eyes of the boy's cast not a glance at the objects on the floor; instead, they roamed through the pages of the book in his hand.

An ancient book bound by black leather it was, its yellow pages threatened to fall away at the seam. The text was written in a gracefully neat hand bespoke of great intellect, yet the subject matter discussed was far more unsettling: the dead and the Underworld, folklore and tradition surrounding death, and the Veil that separates this world from the next. Nowhere could the name of the author be found in the book. Whether the anonymity had been a deliberate decision on the part of the author or otherwise might remain a mystery forevermore.

Once he had confirmed every necessary step for the Evocation ritual, he snapped the book shut and put it aside. Trapped in circumstances beyond the reach of his family and associates, he, Draco Malfoy, was about to seek counsel from the dead.

He checked the time; the hour had arrived. Taking several meditative breaths to ease the knot in his stomach, he closed the lid of the pocket watch and placed his hand over it. Beneath his palm, he could feel the intricate carving of the family coat of arms on the lid, a pride, in particular, of the grandfather he had never met but whose blood coursed through his veins.

Reaching deep inside his soul for that intangible connection with the previous patriarch of the family, he inhaled. Holding his breath, he took the dagger and made a cut on his thumb. When he slowly exhaled, he dripped several drops of blood into the bottle, along with it a fragment of his being. As soon as the blood touched the surface of the liquid, the potion sizzled and darkened into carmine.

With ceremony he put down the dagger, took out a strip of parchment from his robe, and picked up the quill. Ignoring the prickling on his thumb - for he must not heal the wound until the ritual was finished - he drew another long breath and dipped the quill into the potion. With care he wrote the name of his grandfather on the parchment at the same time as he exhaled. The elegantly cursive text glared out as though the parchment bled out the name of its own accord.

Gingerly he dabbled his forefinger into the potion while fighting off the shudder trailing down his spine. Dead, beady eyes haunted his vision, and with some effort he shook them away. He could not risk losing his concentration, for failure meant a fate worse than death. Biting his lower lip, he drew a symbol on the ground just above the pocket watch and placed the parchment atop the symbol.

At last, he took his wand, aimed at the parchment, and recited the incantation he had memorised by heart. As the final syllable escaped his lips, flame shot out from the parchment and engulfed it, leaving behind ashes at the wake. Before Draco's very eyes, a shadow of a bird rose from the ashes like a phoenix, flapped its wings, and took off into darkness. The message had been sent.

Heaving a sigh of relief, he adjusted his breathing and took in slow, meditative breaths. His eyes, however, could not resist casting a glance at the book he had found by chance amongst his father's collection. While he had never taken an interest in the study of the dead before, the book had ignited his curiosity. When he discovered the instructions for the Evocation ritual hidden amidst a forest of theoretical jargon, he decided on a whim to take the book with him to Hogwarts.

Although he did not believe in fate, a part of his psyche quivered at the sense of inevitability overshadowing this little self-indulgence of his. Driven to the edge of his wit by desperation, he had seized the knowledge in the book as his lifeline and staked his soul on this day when the Veil between this world and the next was at its thinnest.

As his mind drifted away into further reminiscence, something tugged at the invisible thread he had cast out into the shadow. Startled, he surveyed the room, finding nothing out of place. Nevertheless, the tug against the strand of his magic did not cease; something was moving just beyond the reach of his consciousness. Barely a heartbeat later, a gust of wind lashed out and extinguished every flame in the chamber, plunging the room into darkness. His heartbeat racing in apprehension, Draco dared not risk breaking his concentration to light the candles.

An unsettling shudder coursed through every inch of his skin when he felt a presence lurking in the dark, clutching the other end of his thread. A breeze liken to a breath or a sigh fluttered his hair; phantom hands that could have been wings grazed his cheeks. Every one of his senses was screaming for him to get away, yet he found himself unable to move, unable to think beyond dreading for what he might have unwittingly unleashed. Like a serpent the very rope he had cast into the shadow coiled around his body, his mind, his soul; he was caught.

A chill brushed against his lips like a ghost of a kiss and flowed into him before he even had time to gasp. Reality slipped out of his grasp like sand in a revolving hourglass; his world disintegrated into nothing more than a hazy dream from once upon a summer day. As a shroud of fog descended over his eyes, blinding him, he felt himself falling backward into a sea of feathers.

* * *

The castle of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was constructed by the minds and craft of countless witches and wizards for many blood-soaked centuries before it reincarnated into its present form. The Gryffindor tower, for one, had existed in every alteration of the design from the very beginning. Its final form, however, resembled less of an integral pillar of the castle and more of a man's dream to reach for the far end of the sky.

In the common-room devoid of young witches and wizards but one, a single candlelight flickered on the stone sill, illuminating the face of a boy sitting by the open window. Before him was a plain white plate, upon which stood four short candles. With a simple tap of his wand, the boy lit each candle in turn until all four burnt brilliantly into the melancholic night, four candles for four departed souls: Lily Potter, James Potter, Cedric Diggory and Sirius Black.

An autumnal draught drifted into the room, caressing the boy's cheeks, yet the boy hardly felt the touch. The quartet of flame wavered, casting shadow over his face and concealing the creases on his brow. Weary, he laid his head on the sill and stared at the white tear-drops sliding down the length of the candles. Neither the warmth from the flame nor the pleasant smell of melting wax could console his spirit.

There was little point in lighting candles for the departed when they knew nothing about it, the boy - Harry Potter - reasoned. Nonetheless, he would rather sit here like a fool than toss and turn in bed, wrestling with the ever elusive pixy named Sleep.

The gaping hole left behind by the passing of his godfather, Sirius Black, did not hurt as much anymore. A near numbness had settled itself in the hollow, though occasions would arise when hearing the name brought a dull pang in his chest. His two best friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, trod lightly whenever the subject pertaining to Sirius came up in a conversation; at other times, they avoided mentioning the name altogether as if it was a curse.

The normalcy of life at Hogwarts frightened Harry at times, for he knew all too well that beyond these secure castle walls, the war continued to wage and the order of the world continued to crumble. Disappearance, murder and destruction dominated the reports in the _Daily Prophet_ with a frequency that had become eerily regular. Many students had opted not to return to Hogwarts, for their parents feared the castle would become a battlefield. Nonetheless, Harry could think of no other place safer than Hogwarts under the guidance of its esteemed headmaster, Albus Dumbledore.

Cold stone dug uncomfortably against his cheek. Heaving a sigh, Harry shifted his position and rested his head on his arm instead. As he squinted at the writhing flame, he pondered about the headmaster; something akin to guilt crept into his stomach. Many months had passed since he broke down before Dumbledore after the disastrous event at the Ministry; he had at last found it in himself to converse amiably with the headmaster. The thoughtful side of him knew the blame did not fall entirely on Dumbledore, but the notion did little to lessen the weight.

Mesmerised by the dancing candlelight, he felt his eyelids grow heavy. Tender heat fluttered against his cheek like the touch of a beloved, lulling him to temporary oblivion. Gradually sliding his eyes shut, he allowed his mind to take flight and carry him back to a happier time that was no more than distant memory-

A long, narrow corridor extended before him. Bleak stone walls stared blankly at him from both sides; floor and ceiling oppressed with perfect nonchalance; claustrophobic darkness stretched beyond infinity behind him. The walls appeared to be slowly closing in on him, yet fear did not invade his heart as he walked on, for he knew with certainty that he must press onwards.

At the end of the corridor stood an archway, over which hung a black veil that, at first glance, looked all too familiar. Nonetheless, he soon realised it was not the one that had haunted his waking days and sleepless nights. Not a wear or tear marred the smooth, shimmering fabric, not a single thread stuck out of place. With an oddly dignified elegance the veil fluttered as if it was floating on water. Soft whispers, like the rustling of dry leaves, seeped through the fabric and into his ear, teasing, tingling, tormenting.

Never had he felt such rash impulse as now to yield to the domineering urge that was clawing for his heart. Anxious as a wolf yearning for a taste of a prey, he longed to grab the veil and pull it aside, to see for himself the forbidden mystery hidden within. Licking his dry lips in anticipation, he reached for the veil. Yet, before his fingertip grazed the tip of the fabric, a human hand as white as bones grasped the veil from the other side. As he watched in morbid fascination, the grotesquely thin hand paused for a beat in deliberation, and then with tantalising slowness, pulled the veil aside-

A spiteful cool breeze slapped Harry's nape like a pair of wings, jolting him awake. Shivering, he opened his eyes and raised his head. Moist darkness cloaked the common-room; the candlelight had died a swift death. Somewhere in the shadow of the woods beyond Harry's reach, a raven cried out in harsh foreboding.

* * *

_To be continued..._

1. From Samuel Taylor Coleridge's poem, "Dejection: An Ode".

A/N: The revision might look different from the original, but the plot stays more or less the same. I have added several details here and there. The Evocation ritual ends up being more elaborate than the original. Below is part of the author's note I'd written in the original story.

Elder is associated with death and rebirth, as well as the Underworld. In the Celtic calendar, the Elder month runs from 25 November to 22 December. It is said that the Elder month contains the darkest days of the year.

This story is one of my entries to the 30_kisses challenge, and it is meant to be a semi-tribute to Gothic literature. I dare not proclaim it a full tribute, for I am hardly on par with all those great masters and mistresses of Gothic literature.


	2. Part I

Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter and its characters are not mine.

A/N: Continuing on with the revision...

**When the Black Veil Flutters**

_Part I: Kaleidoscopic Circus_

Monochromatic gloom dominated the castle on the morning of Hallowe'en. Pallid light trickled through the fogged glass, casting a spell of dreariness over every surface it could reach. Moving like a somnambulist, Harry stumbled into the Great Hall. The enchanted ceiling above him had transformed into the artificial twin of the ashen sky beyond the castle. Beneath the fake clouds, a handful of students sat at their respective tables, eating breakfast in silence.

A dainty figure at the Gryffindor table entered Harry's line of sight. Her brown mane twisted into a knot behind her head and her back straight with dignity, the girl managed the remarkable feat of eating breakfast and poring over a book simultaneously without spilling something on the pages. Smiling, Harry approached the girl, who raised her head.

After exchanging the morning greeting, Harry sat down beside his friend and helped himself to some scrambled eggs and sausages. "You are up early."

"So are you." Over the rim of her cup, Hermione Granger watched him. A frown bespoke of concern wormed its way onto her brow. "Bad night?"

The restless night before had left Harry feeling oddly fatigued, but he did not want his friend to worry too much about him. "I've been better."

"If you ever want to talk..." Hermione trailed off.

Warmth spread across Harry's spirit like mead, even though it was laced with a note of embarrassment. After all these years, the notion of being surrounded by people who cared deeply for him was still a foreign concept that left Harry slightly flustered. "I know," Harry replied, and Hermione smiled.

As the sun gradually escaped the confines of the horizon, Ron Weasley shuffled into the Great Hall, yawning and mumbling to himself about the evil of morning classes. The lanky youth had grown out of his awkward shell, but his height had become something of a hindrance. After giving Harry and Hermione a casual wave in place of a verbal greeting, he flopped onto the seat opposite of Hermione and piled food onto his plate.

By now, more students had come down for breakfast, enlivening the hall with chatter about tonight's feast. Their enthusiasm was not at all daunted by the dismal weather, for unlike any other day, Hallowe'en held a special meaning within the wizarding world.

"I heard Dumbledore booked the Pumpkin Heads," Ron said as he spread a liberal amount of blackberry jam onto his toast. "Their songs aren't too bad, but it would be different to hear them live."

Hermione raised an eyebrow in scepticism. She had abandoned her reading, declaring that the noise in the hall had broken her concentration. "You don't mean singing pumpkins, do you?"

"No, it's a band like the Weird Sisters, except all the members transfigure their heads into pumpkins." With that Ron wolfed down the toast while Hermione beheld his abysmal table manner in resignation.

Pushing his finished plate out of the way, Harry tilted his empty goblet this way and that. "I hope there won't be any dancing tonight."

The red-haired boy winced when memory of the disaster that was the Yule Ball flooded his mind. Hermione, on the other hand, looked on in amusement, for she alone of the three friends possessed fond memories for the ball. "Oh, surely it was not that bad," she reasoned.

Thoroughly unimpressed, Ron muttered under his breath, "Yeah, it was _that_ bad."

"You shouldn't scoff it off as a pointless exercise. If you actually try to learn the steps and put the knowledge into practice, you would be able to see the social merit in knowing how to dance, especially in as close-knit a society as the wizarding community."

"Now you really sound like my mum, except she doesn't use as many words as you do."

The urge to grin at his friend's antics vanished when Harry felt a prickling at his nape. At first, he thought it was merely his imagination; and yet, the unsettling feeling of being watched persisted. However accustomed to stares he might have become over the years, his instinct told him this was different. The gaze did not merely sting like a drop of icy water; it pressed against his neck like a blade, cutting ever deeper into his flesh.

Shoulders tensed in restlessness, he looked around him, searching for the source of the disturbance. Several seconds were all it took for him to locate a pair of intrusive grey eyes scrutinising him from across the Great Hall.

As though surprised that he was discovered, Draco Malfoy tilted his head to one side as a child would, his face blank as a death mask. Everything about him seemed lifeless as a marionette, everything but those gleaming mercurial eyes. Sharp as a scalpel his gaze stripped Harry minutely of his defence until it laid bare his organs on the table for all to see. Harry wanted nothing more than to avert his eyes, but driven by pride, he forced himself to maintain the contact.

Several heartbeats later, the boy on the other side came to life. Amusement danced across his face before a soft, knowing smile fluttered onto his lips, a smile unsettlingly pleasant to behold. A chill crept into Harry's very marrow, for there was something disturbing and wrong about this scene, this optic distortion liken to fragments of a face in a cracked mirror that was missing several pieces.

After a tantalising beat, Draco looked away, and the rest of the world snapped into motion once more. Heaving a sigh of relief, Harry watched in bemusement as Draco said something to Vincent Crabbe, who, shaking with fright, passed the sugar bowl. In fact, Crabbe was not the only person who seemed afraid. Those sitting closest to Draco fidgeted in unease while those further away stole uncomfortable glances at the Malfoy heir.

Mystified, Harry turned away from the Slytherin table, only to catch a glimpse of the Slytherin Head of House studying Draco with a mixture of severity and fascination on his face. His curiosity piqued, Harry turned to the headmaster, who wore a flamboyant crimson robe that stained his white beard red. Although Dumbledore attempted to conceal his true feeling behind a frown, Harry, who had once witnessed the headmaster's vulnerable moment, had never seen him more rattled than now.

Deep in his thought, Harry was not aware of an argument breaking out in front of him until Ron said, "Isn't it too early to start making eyes at each other?" Jolted out of his musing, he found his friend shooting daggers at his sister and Dean Thomas, who smiled weakly at the hostility between the Weasley siblings.

Clutching Dean's arm in a deliberate attempt to annoy her brother, Ginny snapped back. "When will you grow up, Ron? You should just get yourself a girlfriend and stop barging into my business!" With that she dragged Dean away to the far end of the table.

His face reddened in indignation, Ron stammered after the retreating figures of his sister and her boyfriend, "That has nothing to do with this!"

Ever the voice of reason, Hermione heaved a sigh. "You should just leave Ginny be. She's perfectly capable of taking care of herself."

Finding an opponent instead of an ally in Hermione, Ron scowled. "Really? Of course you can say that. She's not your sister."

Her eyes gleaming with impatience, Hermione said in a decidedly frosty tone, "Are you implying I don't care what happens to her? For your record, she's my friend, but I am not going to put shackles around her ankles and lock her up for the rest of her life."

"I'm not putting shackles around her ankles! I'm just saying she has terrible taste in boys."

"And what kind of standard are you using to judge her taste by? You weren't happy when she went out with a Ravenclaw. And now you are not happy that she's going out with a Gryffindor?"

Temper flared between Ron and Hermione without a hint of remorse. Sensing danger in the air, Harry hastily stepped in to defuse the prelude to what would likely become an explosive quarrel; the mystery behind the fair-haired Slytherin was temporarily forgotten.

* * *

Curtains were tightly drawn to shut out even the slightest sliver of natural light. Candlelight flickered at every motion in the air, splattering an interplay of light and shadow over grisly depiction of human suffering along the walls. In the midst of this forbidding setting, Severus Snape, his appearance defined by unfathomable black but for his sallow skin, reigned the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom as a Gothic villain would in his ancestral castle.

Scattered across the room in pairs, the sixth year students continued their practice on casting non-verbal spells. Partnered with Ron, Harry managed to disarm him without uttering a word. Grinning, Ron shrugged and held out his hand. When Harry threw the wand back to his friend, Snape stalked towards them like a vulture.

"After two full classes, Mr Potter has at last grasped the essence of casting a non-verbal spell that a third year student could perform with ease." With that he strode away, leaving Harry and Ron to glower at his back. Nevertheless, the rigidness in the despicable professor's demeanour made Harry wonder if Snape was wary about something - or someone.

Harry stole a glance to his right, where a certain silver-eyed boy was paired with Theodore Nott, another heir of a Death Eater. With an almost lazy gesture, Draco stunned Nott, who fell to the ground with a thump. Snape, standing several steps away from the scene, must have witnessed everything. Instead of praising Malfoy and granting the Slytherins an excessive amount of house points, however, he revived Nott without a word.

Following Harry's gaze, Ron saw Nott on the ground rubbing his head and Draco standing there with an apathetic expression on his face. "That git must have cheated!" Ron mumbled darkly under his breath.

Hermione heard Ron's remark and turned also to look at Draco. Disquietude fell over her like a veil when she saw the utter lack of expression on Draco's countenance, his metallic eyes reflected everything and revealed nothing.

Suddenly Snape whipped his wand at Draco, his movement almost too quick for the eye to see. Harry, Ron and Hermione gasped in unison; it was painfully obvious that Draco would be unable to block the curse in time. Yet, moving in a fluid motion so swift the candlelight around him swayed and died, Draco deflected the curse back at Snape. Snape parried; Nott rolled out of the way in fright.

Other students finally noticed what was happening and hastily got out of harm's way. Crowding at the far end of the classroom, they watched with wide eyes as sparks flew across the room, shattering furniture and scorching paintings and walls. Like birds of prey the two duellists danced around each other, one an experienced vulture, the other a young but no less vicious eagle. Even the other Slytherins were transfixed by the unprecedented duel between their dorm-mate and their Head of House.

Her brow wrinkled into a contemplative frown, Hermione said in a low voice only Harry and Ron could hear, "When did Malfoy become so skilled in casting non-verbal spells?"

"Since last class?" Ron offered. The grimace on his face spoke plainly that a joke was the furthest thing from his mind.

Mesmerised by the duel before him, Harry did not make a comment. Snape was relentless in his pursuit, leaving not a single opening for his opponent to exploit. And yet, Draco, moving with aloof confidence, countered the attack as if he could read Snape's every move. It was unlike anything Harry had ever seen before. Past dealings with the Slytherin had never suggested to Harry that Draco was so skilled in wand work.

When Malfoy flicked his wand in a dizzying succession of feints interspersed with assault, Harry gave a start. Draco was no longer countering; he was swooping in for the kill. Curses hit Snape on the forehead and the right shoulder, and the professor faltered. The crowd let out a collective gasp; the tide was turned. Knowing he had lost the advantage, Snape retaliated in a fury. A curse struck the boy's left arm, but Draco did not even blink as he sliced the air at Snape. The air sizzled with the shrill yet murky residual of dark curses. Harry felt his skin crawl; many of his classmates turned pale with sickness.

"Should we get a teacher?" one of the Ravenclaws nervously suggested.

"I'll go." Hermione volunteered, but before she could even take a step towards the door, the crowd let out another gasp, this time of surprise and relief.

The two figures at the centre of everyone's attention moved no more. The lean black eagle had his wand trained at the old vulture's heart, his inorganic eyes piercing into the face of his opponent. Draco had won the duel. Stunned silence permeated the room as the students realised one of their classmates had defeated a teacher.

Blood dripping down his forehead like angry tears, Snape narrowed his dark eyes. "This is most unwise, Mr Malfoy," Snape said quietly, his face betraying neither a hint of emotion nor a sliver of his true thought.

In a soft voice that conveyed the exact opposite of weakness, Draco whispered, "I shall be the judge of that," he paused as if in contemplation or in mockery, "professor."

The wand in Draco's hand vanished in a flash. For a tantalising moment, the teacher and his student scrutinised each other in a battle of will no less fierce than the duel before. Tension loomed heavily over the room, threatening to strangle the air into non-being.

Grey eyes blinked once, and the tension evaporated as swiftly as the summer rain. The cool calculation in those eyes was gone, replaced by perplexity, then loathing directed at Snape. The metamorphosis was so drastic that not even Snape knew how to react. Ignoring the attention he had garnered, Draco surveyed the crowd, his eyes fell at last upon Harry. A strange look that stirred Harry's memory passed across Malfoy's face. A beat later, Draco left the classroom without a word.

As soon as the door slid shut behind him, excitement exploded across the room like fireworks. Under any normal situation, Snape would have unleashed his fury on the students. Yet, as Harry turned to him, he found the Slytherin Head of House staring intently at the door, his lips pressed into a grim line.

Meanwhile, Draco, stumbling into a deserted corridor, leant against the wall as though his strength was spent. Holding out his shaky hands, he stared at them as though he had never beheld them before. Grey eyes tinted with a touch of blue sharpened into silver, then melted into hazel, before they became a blank. Two syllables escaped from his lips, forming a word no one but he could hear.

Pain stabbed into his head like a bolt of lightning, threatening to split his head open. Perspiration trickled down his forehead; his expression contorted into one of agony. Biting his lip so hard that he tasted blood in his mouth, he clutched his head as if some invisible force was ripping his psyche apart.

* * *

By lunch time, the news surrounding the duel between Draco Malfoy and Severus Snape had travelled to the ear of nearly every occupant in the castle. Accompanied by the aroma of appetising dishes, rumours and speculation spread across the Great Hall like an inferno. The absence of the two key players merely served to stoke the flame further. Left in charge by the headmaster, the deputy headmistress, Minerva McGonagall, attempted to restore order to no avail.

At the far end of the Gryffindor table, Harry and Hermione waited in contemplative silence for Ron to finish his lunch. With some reluctance, Ron put down the fork, grabbed several breadsticks from the table, and followed his friends to the draughty corridor.

Passing by a ghost or two along the way, they reached the open-air passageway leading out to the courtyard, which was quiet as a graveyard. Green moss bled out from gaps between interlocking stones; leafless vines crawled onto weather-beaten walls like serpents. As the earth languished in its death bed, the smell of rot and decay permeated the air.

When the three Gryffindors reached an alcove tucked away neatly out of sight, Hermione sat down on the stone bench, clutching a book as always. After raising his eyebrows at Harry, Ron sat down beside her while Harry leant against the pillar. Looking out at the courtyard, Harry contemplated the leaden clouds looming over the towers on the other side. The dusty hue of the sky reminded him of a certain pair of grey eyes.

Frame by minute frame the duel was replayed in Harry's mind, unwilling to sink into oblivion. The speed with which Draco acted and reacted was indeed impressive, as was the variety of spells he had cast. Harry had never considered the possibility of utilising feint in a duel before, nor had he considered minimising the lapse between spells by minimising the arm movement. Despite his misgivings, the duel had opened his eyes in more ways than one.

Meanwhile, Hermione finally succumbed to her insatiable thirst for answers. "I don't understand. How did Malfoy become so good in duels? And why did Snape attack him?"

"Who cares?" Ron grumbled while twirling one of the breadsticks as though it was a quill. "Why is everyone making a huge fuss over this? If they end up killing each other, it's not a great loss to the world."

Annoyance flitted across Hermione's face like a dark cloud. "Don't say that, Ron. Snape is working for the Order, remember? I'm sure he is one of the reasons the Death Eaters haven't invaded Hogwarts yet. Besides, Dumbledore trusts him."

Equally annoyed, Ron chewed on the breadstick and mumbled, "Yeah? I think Dumbledore's too soft-hearted to see that slimy git for what he really is - a slimy git."

"I know you don't like him." Ron snorted; Hermione pretended she had heard nothing. "But that doesn't mean you know what he is really like. There must be a reason for Dumbledore to trust him so much. Don't you think so too, Harry?"

Jolted back to reality, Harry stared at his friends for several seconds, the elegant figure of a black eagle in flight dancing still before his eyes. "Oh, sorry. I must have spaced out. What were you saying?"

Ron and Hermione exchanged a significant look, a look that did not go unnoticed by Harry's keen eyes. "Are you all right?" Hermione asked.

"Yeah," Harry automatically replied before he changed his mind. "No. I don't know. Everything's been so strange since this morning." In truth, he had little reason to be bothered with Malfoy, and yet...

"Here. Don't say I'm not sharing." When Harry looked up, he found Ron extending his arm over Hermione's head to offer him a breadstick. The bashful smile on Ron's face spoke volume of things that required no word. Smiling in return, Harry accepted the treat.

"So, let's get back to dishing out dirt about Snape," Ron declared proudly.

The glare Hermione sent towards Ron's direction lost much of its effect as a smile threatened to break onto her face. "You were the only one indulging in that particular exercise." And then, the playfulness in her voice dissipated like ashes in the wind. "I hope I'm wrong, but I couldn't help thinking it might have something to do with the Death Eaters."

A pang struck Harry's chest with little warning, but the dark-haired boy disguised it by biting on the breadstick. "You mean someone might have cast the Imperius on Malfoy."

"Either that or he's possessed. It would certainly explain the personality change." Nevertheless, Hermione frowned at a distant point beyond the reach of either boys. "Does your scar hurt, Harry?"

"You don't mean You-Know-Who has something to do with it, do you?" Ron said in a tone that suggested he would rather Hermione disagree with him.

Shifting his footing in discomfort, Harry wondered why he had not thought of it. "No, it hasn't hurt for some time. But that doesn't say much." Distracted, he gazed into the shadowy depth of the passageway, imagining he could see the hem of a black robe whipping out of sight. "Dumbledore and Snape knew something wasn't right about Malfoy." With that, he told them what he saw this morning.

After listening to Harry's narrative, Hermione cradled her chin while Ron tapped the heel of his shoe at the ground. "Should we even assume all this rubbish has something to do with You-Know-Who at all?" Ron suddenly said. "Sure, Malfoy beat Snape. For all we know, they might've staged the whole thing."

"And what purpose would that serve?" Hermione ran an impatient hand through her long tresses. "Someone in Snape's position wouldn't want to attract unwanted attention."

"I doubt Voldemort has anything to do with it," Harry said, prompting Ron and Hermione to look at him. "If I'm Voldemort, I wouldn't waste time on the son of a subordinate who got himself arrested. Instead, I would take control of someone with authority."

"That's true." Deep in her thought, Hermione flipped through the pages of her book without taking in a single word. "Still, something bothers me, but I don't know why."

"Aren't you two making things more complicated than it is?" Ron pointed out. "Look, why would anyone want to attack someone else? One, they don't like each other. Two, they are on opposite sides. Three, there's something to be gained. Who knows? They could be fighting for the top position in the Death Eater hierarchy."

"Haven't you heard what I've said? Snape works for Dumbledore as a spy; he cannot afford to stand out. Engaging a student in a duel _in full view of other students _is hardly what I would call stealth."

Brushing his fingers over his unruly hair in frustration, Harry mused aloud, "Perhaps Snape was testing Malfoy? Or perhaps he noticed something odd about Malfoy and decided to eliminate a possible threat?" An inconsistency to his theory made him pause. "But he wouldn't have let Malfoy go so easily, would he?"

Heaving a sigh, Hermione snapped her book shut. "We aren't getting anywhere. Perhaps it would be best if we leave the matter be for now."

Nevertheless, the disquietude in Harry's mind did not disappear; like poison it coursed through his veins. Pushing himself away from the pillar, Harry flashed a quick smile at his bemused friends. "I'm going for a walk. Don't wait up." With that he passed through the passageway in long strides.

Once the lean figure vanished around the corner, Hermione bit her lip in anxiety. "You don't suppose Harry might confront Malfoy, do you?"

"Give him a break, will you?" Ron chided. "Harry isn't that stupid. We should trust his judgement."

"Or so you say." Hermione cast a sidelong glance at the freckled face of the boy by her side, the best of friends and something more. "You can't deny that he has a tendency to let his impulse get the better of him. He doesn't exactly have a clean record either."

Ron stared straight ahead, even though he could feel Hermione's searching gaze on him. "I know that. But has it ever occurred to you that the reason Harry runs off on his own every so often is to avoid people breathing down his neck all the time?"

Rue marred the facade of calm on Hermione's visage. "I suppose you are right."

Ron sent a guilty glance at Hermione the moment she looked away. He knew Harry had problem sleeping at night, but he did not mention it to her, for fear of straining her already frail nerves. The war had been nothing but a dead weight to everyone he knew, including himself. At the moment, however, he cursed Malfoy all the more for troubling his friend. Having known Harry for years, he could tell his friend was bothered by the Slytherin's presence, and for the like of him, he could not understand why.

* * *

Harry's leather shoes struck the stone floor in even tempo, the pace a beat heavier than that of the younger students frolicking down the corridor. Leaden light from beyond the windows cast the faintest of shadows across the floor. Looking out at the forlorn Scottish landscape, Harry felt his restlessness gradually chased away by the draught lurking in the corridor.

He took a left turn and entered a side corridor where nothing but tapestries adorned the walls. The torches fixed on iron sconces burnt ever so steadily; the wavering flame compelled the figures in the threadbare tapestries into motion. When Harry walked past the gaping hole of a narrow passageway, the flame swayed in a delirious frenzy. A breeze slapped against his cheek; a shadow flitted by out of the corner of his eye; a pair of arms seized his body from behind. Startled, Harry whipped out his wand, but in the next moment, the wand left his hand.

"Sorry about that, but I need to talk to you," the assailant whispered, his warm breath prickling Harry's skin. The jab of a wand at his throat made Harry freeze. "Come with me for a moment, would you?"

As soon as Harry recognised the voice, his heart sank. Defiance welled up in him, urging him to fight off the assailant. Yet what the assailant said next caused him to pause. "I'll hex you if you keep it up."

Quickly Harry ran through his options. Without his wand, he had no way of defending himself. Even if he were to break free, the assailant would have more than enough time to hex him. Although he could yell for help, his pride would not let him; he did not want to be seen in such a vulnerable state at the hands of his bitter rival. While he kicked himself for letting down his guard, emotion of a different kind crept into his mind - it was anticipation.

Taking his silence as consent, his assailant dragged him to a nearby classroom and shut the door. The lock snapped into place of its own accord like the declaration of a death sentence. The room smelled faintly of old parchment and withered flowers; Harry realised he had never been to this room before.

"I'm going to let you go slowly." The threat was merely implied but readily understood. "No sudden movement, all right?" Harry nodded.

Several heartbeats later, his kidnapper loosened his hold and took a step back. The tip of the wand drew a horizontal line across Harry's neck as if meaning to slit his throat open. When Harry could feel the pressure no more, he wheeled around to face Draco Malfoy, his green eyes blazing with indignation.

Without a word Draco threw the holly wand back to him. Befuddled yet reluctant to take any more chances, Harry aimed his wand at the fair-haired boy, who raised his hands in a gesture of peace. "There," Draco said. "You are armed and I'm not. Let's talk."

Squinting at the boy with hard eyes, Harry demanded. "What do you want?"

Calm as a lamp light encased in glass, Draco peered intently at Harry's face as if wanting to carve every curve and angle into his memory. "I need your help."

"That's funny," Harry said coolly, though for reasons that eluded his grasp, he felt something akin to pain constricting his chest. "I don't recall you and I being ever on friendly terms with each other for me to help you."

"I mean it, Harry." Harry narrowed his eyes when Draco called him by his given name. "I need you to deliver a message to Dumbledore for me. Tell him Draco Malfoy is in trouble."

Suspicion danced within the periphery of Harry's consciousness. "Sure you are. You just fought with a teacher."

"Just tell him, will you?" Draco's pale face twisted in frustration at Harry's stubborn refusal to take him seriously. "He'll understand. Also, tell him to search Draco Malfoy's room."

"Tell me why I should do as you say. Mind you, it'd better be a good reason."

Those cloudy grey orbs, tinted with a hint of azure, gazed into Harry's forest green eyes as if measuring the depth of the soul. "You can never stand aside when someone is in trouble."

Surprise and uncertainty invaded his mind as Harry regarded his rival. A look of sincerity as he had never beheld before was etched onto Draco's face with disturbing clarity. Harry's innate distrust for the Slytherin, however, would not let him discard his suspicion so easily. "Is that supposed to be a compliment?"

"It's your strength and your weakness." Those gaunt eyes of Draco's revealed some suppressed emotion Harry could not comprehend. "If you still remember the two-way mirror," there was a pause as Draco weighed his words, "_he _would be happy."

That strange remark and those hardened eyes struck a chord in Harry, yet he could not tell why. When he saw Draco walking towards the door, his impulse to detain the boy got the better of him. "Wait!"

"If you are going to hex me, then go ahead." His hand resting on the doorknob, Draco stood as still as dead wood in a windless forest.

Harry had an inkling Draco would not defend himself should he choose the easy route. Several tense beats passed by, and Harry lowered his wand. "I won't stab someone in the back," Harry heard himself say, despite knowing he might come to regret his decision. "Not even you."

"I know." It came out as barely a whisper. With those parting words, Draco opened the door as though it was never locked in the first place, leaving Harry to fathom out yet another riddle amidst a hailstorm of riddles.

* * *

Oppressive chill dominated the Potions classroom like a wet cloth shrouding one's face. Even without the imposing figure of the previous Potions master looming in the background, the room retained the same cage-like gloom. Silent walls whispered not a word of the history they had witnessed, yet any young witch or wizard who entered the room could sense the ancient air bespoke of blood-stained past.

With many thoughts weighing on his mind, Harry walked towards the table at the back, where Ron and Hermione were exchanging words with Ernie MacMillian. As soon as he sat down, his friends looked at him, unspoken queries lurking on their faces. Harry, debating whether or not he should divulge to his friends, was on the verge of opening his mouth when a hush descended upon the classroom.

Following the gaze of his friends, Harry saw Draco Malfoy striding into the classroom. With the grace of an aristocrat, the silver-eyed boy sat down at his usual place, his cold eyes sweeping across the room at every face that was turned to him. Nearly everyone gave a start, be it stemmed from awe or wariness.

When those grey eyes fixed upon his face, Harry felt his chest pierced by the sharpest of ice. He had the strangest feeling that this boy who had just entered the room was not the same person who had requested his help. Those metallic orbs seemed to dare him to tell his friends what happened. His pride wounded, he chewed at the inside of his cheek and held his tongue.

"Well, I'm glad you have decided to join us, Mr Malfoy." Horace Slughorn, the new Potions master and the predecessor of Snape, summoned the students' attention back to him.

Icy gaze glided towards the direction of the professor, who took an involuntary step back. "The pleasure is all mine, professor," Malfoy said, his suave voice laced with subtly veiled contempt.

Slughorn opened his mouth as if about to say something else; a beat later, he began the lecture instead. With half ear Harry listened to Slughorn's explanation on the relationship between ailment and remedy; yet he could not stop mulling over what Draco had said to him. Every strand of his instinct told him not to trust the boy; nonetheless, something deep within the recess of his psyche whispered otherwise.

As soon as the professor left the students alone to work on the potion, Hermione sent a glance at Harry's direction. Avoiding Hermione's eyes, Harry dropped the dead tarantula into the mortar and ground it. Hermione cast a look at Ron, who was more preoccupied with taking not a single glimpse of the crushed spider. As Ron's words echoed in her head, she quietly got started on her potion, giving Harry the space he needed.

Left with nothing but his own thought, Harry tried to fathom out the riddle Draco had conjured specifically for him to solve. The door that would lead him to the answers he sought was so close he could nearly touch the doorknob; the two-way mirror was the password he needed to burst the door open. If a mirror reflects, what would a two-way mirror do?

And then, it dawned on him. Snapping his head towards Draco's direction, Harry thought he saw a ghost, a ghost that had haunted his waking hours and restless dreams. Waves of emotion flooded his mind, drowning him and suffocating him until he could barely breathe.

Unsettled by Harry's stillness, Hermione called out to him. "What's wrong, Harry? You look pale."

Ron, who had also noticed something was wrong, shook Harry's shoulder while Ernie watched on in confusion. "Come on. Talk to us, mate."

His hands trembling, Harry let go of the pestle and heard the sharp clink of ceramic striking ceramic, a sound not unlike that of glass cracking. The wound that had just healed began to splinter once again. "Malfoy has spoken to Sirius."

After exchanging a worried look with Ron, Hermione said, "I don't understand. What are you talking about?"

Knowing he could no longer hide the truth from his friends, Harry told them what happened after he parted way with them during the lunch hour. Once he had finished, he took a deep breath to calm himself before launching into further explanation.

"Sirius gave me a package before the Christmas holiday ended last year. It wasn't until..." Harry faltered. Tightening his fist, he forced himself to continue. "It wasn't until after he was gone that I opened the package and found the two-way mirror inside. He had attached a note saying that he had the other mirror and that I could talk to him whenever I want..." He trailed off, for no more words needed to be said.

Stricken speechless by Harry's words, Hermione wanted to comfort Harry, but she did not know how. Like Harry, she understood the implication of how things might have turned out differently had Harry opened the package sooner. Ron, on the other hand, gave Harry a consoling pat on the shoulder, knowing words meant little at a moment like this.

Letting out a shaky breath, Harry thrust aside his turmoil for now. "Only Sirius and I knew about the mirror. I've never told anyone before now. Malfoy couldn't have known about it except through Sirius."

"I don't know." Doubt trickled into Hermione's voice. "Malfoy could've found out about the mirror through other means."

"Maybe Malfoy wasn't talking about the same two-way mirror." Ron suggested, yet his tone conveyed not a shard of confidence.

When Harry maintained his silence, Hermione peered at his face in earnest. "Listen to me, Harry. Perhaps Malfoy did talk to Sirius, or perhaps he's possessed. But don't do anything rash. Something isn't right, and I think you know that as well. I don't want you to get hurt - or be disappointed."

Touched though he was by Hermione's sincerity, Harry could not resist the siren's call beckoning him to the depth of the sea. Casting a glance at his rival, he found Draco contemplating him as though he could hear the thought in his head. The creature staring out from those eyes could not possibly be his godfather. Nevertheless, Sirius had given him a hint; Harry would not rest until he found out what happened to Sirius.

Stillness lasted for several heartbeats before Draco walked towards Slughorn, who eyed his pupil with a guarded look on his face. "Professor, I am not feeling well. With your permission I would like to take my leave." However polite Draco's words might sound, they left little room for objection.

Startled by the forcefulness behind those words and the ghastly pallor of his student's skin, Slughorn said, "Certainly. Would you like someone to accompany you?"

"I will." Harry raised his hand. Beside him, Ron and Hermione took a sharp intake of breath. Other classmates regarded him as if he was about to walk to the gallows, but Harry fixed his gaze solely on Malfoy. Narrowing his eyes, Draco returned to the table to gather his things.

"A- ah, very well then." Slughorn faltered for a beat, though he had the grace to smile at Harry. "Mr Potter, would you please escort Mr Malfoy to the hospital wing?"

Nodding once at the professor, Harry whispered to Ron and Hermione, "Pack up my things for me."

"Harry, it's too dangerous! You don't know who you are dealing with." Hermione hissed under her breath. "Besides, you haven't finished your potion yet!"

"I'll be all right. I know I won't fail this class now that Snape isn't the one teaching it," Harry jested. When neither Ron nor Hermione smiled, he dropped the facade of cheerfulness. "I just have to know for sure, or else it will haunt me forever."

Closely Ron studied Harry's face, noting the determination burning beneath his friend's glasses; he could tell nothing he or Hermione said would possibly dissuade Harry. "Go on then, if that'll make you feel better."

Words of reprimand threatened to escape Hermione's mouth. And yet, after taking another look at Harry, the stern Gryffindor let out a sigh and said no more. After mumbling an apology to his friends, Harry got up and followed Draco out the door.

* * *

Shadows chased after Harry and Draco as the two boys climbed the stairs to the ground floor. Striding three steps away from Draco, Harry maintained his vigilance and kept his hand on his wand. After climbing another flight of stairs, the Slytherin turned sharply towards a disused section of the castle. His wariness deepened, Harry nevertheless followed his rival into the labyrinth. The sound of footsteps echoed in the corridor and travelled to the cobweb-rimmed ceiling.

Abruptly Draco slowed to a halt and braced his hand against the wall, his body shaking as though suffering from unspeakable pain. Taken aback, Harry threw caution into the wind and quickened to his rival's side. He could not bite back the gasp when he beheld Draco's ashen countenance, a hue far too akin to human bones for Harry's comfort.

"Malfoy?" Concern as he had never displayed to Draco before seeped into his voice, though Harry hardly had time to care.

Grey eyes stared blankly at him for several heartbeats before a flicker of recognition flitted by in their depth. And then, Draco's expression evolved into that of another individual, a certain someone Harry had been yearning to see.

Trembling, Harry gazed into those haunted eyes and searched for the soul looking out at him. Torn between the desire to hope and the fear of disappointment, he called out. "Sirius?"

An unassuming grin flashed briefly across the face of the boy before him, a look that reminded Harry painfully of a certain black dog that was no more. Pushing himself away from the wall, the fair-haired boy said, "Hello, Harry. Just in case, ask me something Sirius Black would know."

Two pieces of memory shone out in the depth of Harry's mind like a rapier and the accompanying main-gauche. "All right. How did I get my Firebolt? What form does my Patronus take?"

"You received your Firebolt from your godfather, Sirius Black, as thirteen years worth of birthday presents. As for your Patronus, it takes the form of a stag, just like your father's Animagus form."

Any final doubt Harry had clung onto for the sake of his sanity had dissipated into ashes and dust. Clutching his fist lest he shatter into a million pieces, he blurted out, "What's going on? Why are you in Malfoy's body? Why did he-"

Sirius held out a hand to signal for Harry to slow down. "Have you talked to Dumbledore yet?"

Although Harry had not forgotten about the request, his wariness towards the Slytherin had prompted him to unnecessary delay that, on hindsight, was no more than an act of childishness. "No, I haven't talked to him yet," Harry replied, his cheeks flushing.

"I don't blame you. I wouldn't have believed it either if I were you." Like a paternal figure that he was, Sirius placed his hands on Harry's shoulders, even though they were already at eye level with each other. "Make sure you tell him, all right? Things might not be so cheery from now on." His expression darkened. "You've probably noticed too. I'm not the only one possessing Draco Malfoy."

Recalling those apathetic grey eyes and the eerie smile on Draco's face, Harry stifled the urge to tremble. "So, the one who duelled with Snape wasn't Malfoy after all. Do you think that- that thing might try something else?"

"Not if I can help it." The grimness on Sirius' face, however, was soon replaced by a smile at once melancholic and peaceful. "Still, I'm glad that I'm able to see you again like this, Harry. Nothing makes me happier to know you are doing all right."

Everything within Harry's line of sight became blurred by the mist he had been holding back in the locked box of his heart. Nevertheless, Harry returned the smile while his heart overflowed with contentment. "I'm so glad I can talk to you again, Sirius."

Wordlessly Sirius gathered him into his arms and held him close. However strange the physical closeness with Draco's body was, the familiarity of the gesture from his godfather's spirit made the mist in Harry's eyes deepen. Returning the embrace, Harry recovered the peace he had lost from the instant his godfather crossed over to the other shore.

The fleeting moment of serenity did not last, however. The air in the corridor became corrupted by the murky scent of death, making Harry's skin crawl. No longer did Harry feel safe in those arms; instead, he felt as if he was ensnared by a serial murderer. When the pale boy tightened his hold, Harry instinctively jerked away and looked upon his rival's face. With a sinking feeling, he realised Sirius was gone. Eyes gleaming with a dash of hazel contemplated him as though examining a specimen under a microscope.

"I see." Draco's soft-spoken voice was melodious like the sound of a nightingale; and yet, a shiver ran down Harry's spine. "You must be Albus' prized student, Harry Potter."

Suppressing his dread for this unknown creature wearing Draco Malfoy's skin, Harry forced a query out of his parched throat. "Who are you?"

"Someone of little concern." A smile of faint amusement crept onto those bloodless lips of Draco's, a smile not unlike one a man of medicine would grant to a corpse he had stolen from a grave once upon a moonlit night. "You intrigue me, young one. I have been wanting to make your acquaintance."

Driven by the shrill warning bell in his head, Harry wheeled around to run. Nevertheless, with the agility of the deadliest of predators, Draco twisted him around and shoved him against the wall. Before Harry even had time to register the impact of his skull against the stone, he found Draco's cool lips pressing firmly against his.

Stricken with shock, Harry struggled with all his might, yet those poisonous lips had robbed him of his strength. Listless and fatigued, he could barely stand but for those claw-like hands digging into his shoulders. A wisp of something like opium smoke passed from Draco's mouth into Harry's, annihilating what remained of his will and soiling his mind with a montage of dizzying images that meant little to him.

When his assailant moved away, Harry slid onto the floor and landed at Draco's feet, his mind poisoned by indolence he no longer possessed the will to resist. Spectres and demons trampled upon his consciousness and dragged him deeper into the abyss of oblivion, their clanking chains slowly but surely strangling his soul.

Draco's hypnotic voice pierced through the haze like a beacon in the dark, luring him into the claustrophobic dungeon laced with the sweetest of venom. "I'll see you later, Harry Potter." And then, everything that made up Harry Potter the young wizard was gone.

* * *

_To be continued..._

A/N: The revision for Part I hasn't changed a lot, content-wise. I like the lunch time scene between the Gryffindor trio, not so much for what they are discussing about, but how they interact with one another. The duel scene is fun to write, but it's also a nightmare (the real nightmare will show up in the next part). Who duelled with Snape? Who stole a kiss off Harry?


	3. Part II

Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter and its characters are not mine. The short story "Ligeia" belongs to Edgar Allan Poe.

A/N: And the revision continues...

**When the Black Veil Flutters**

_Part II: On the Spinning Carousel_

Like the needle of a wasp, a drop of heat fell upon Harry's cheek and stung his skin. Roused from his involuntary slumber, the young Gryffindor snapped open his eyes. A cast-iron chandelier loomed overhead, its candlelight barely able to penetrate the darkness hovering beyond.

When he saw something drip down the metal, he instinctively threw out his hand. The stinging sensation from before spread across his palm, followed by an odour of burnt flesh. Bewildered, he stared at his palm; a drop of crimson liken to a wax seal was branded onto his skin. As confusion metamorphosed into apprehension, he peeled the wax aside, revealing the blackened flesh that, were he to peer at it, formed a crest he could not recognise.

Abruptly he sat up, for he thought he heard footstep coming towards him. The knife named Panic cleaved his rationality into carcasses, leaving nothing but an irrepressible urge to run away from his pursuer. Scrambling to his feet, he darted his eyes wildly about the corridor before setting off into a run.

From room to empty room, corridor to empty corridor, he ran as if the grating of an axe was closing in on him. As he passed beneath an army of skeletal chandeliers, they showered him with crimson blessing. He could hear no sound but his pursuer's unhurried footstep and his own frantic footfall. Only then did it occur to him that he was alone in this labyrinth of a mansion with a hunter in pursuit.

Stumbling around the corner, he braced himself against the wall, and, in his haste, cut his palm against a jagged edge of the stone. When he saw blood flowing from charred flesh, dizziness struck him with little warning. He lost his footing and fell to the ground, his entire being swayed with the rest of the corridor in a phantasmagoric nightmare. Like a perfect stalker the footstep approached ever closer, pressing for him to continue running lest he endure torture worse than death.

He struggled to his feet and stumbled down the corridor, where he at last arrived at a set of oak double doors. Grotesque figures and creatures he had never seen before were carved on the doors; the exit from this nightmare might equally be salvation or condemnation. Gritting his teeth, he pushed the doors open and crossed the threshold into the unknown.

Walls from both sides pressed in against him, leading to something he had anticipated to see at the other end. A veil rivalling the darkest of the moonless sky floated before him, obscuring what lay behind. A soft-spoke voice from the other side muttered curses that sounded almost like a prayer. As soon as he grasped the velvety fabric, however, the cursing stopped. Instead, a voice whispered into his ear, beckoning him to pull the veil aside.

Trembling in fright, he tried to turn around, but he could not move. Shadows in the form of spider's threads leapt from the walls and bound him to the ground. Like a marionette his body moved on its own accord and tugged the veil. The veil simply fell away as if it was made of paper, revealing to him the forbidden he ought not to have witnessed-

Plunged headlong into the frozen lake, he flung his arms in a desperate struggle to the surface. Nevertheless, the chill had spread into his arms, numbing all his senses. Unable to breathe, he clawed for anything that could pull him out of this water prison.

"Harry, wake up!"

Snapping his eyes open, Harry found himself face to face with a pearly spectre, whose head was on the verge of parting from its neck. Hungry for air, he took in several deep breaths before his eyes darted around the arched ceiling through the ghost's transparent face.

The ghost, one Nearly Headless Nick, floated away to grant the boy some space, but he continued to stare at Harry with a strange expression on his face. "What happened to you?"

"I'm not sure." Harry sat up and pushed his glasses back into place, his mind racing to fathom out what was going on. The last thing he remembered before he fell unconscious was of Draco kissing him. His lips tingling at the remembrance, he rubbed his arms to ward off the sudden chill seeping under his skin.

"I don't suppose you were taking an afternoon nap in such a remote place by any chance?" Nick remarked wryly, though his tone conveyed harmless humour that held no reproach against the young Gryffindor. "I do, however, agree it is a pleasant spot for a moment of introspection."

"Thanks for waking me up, Nick. I'd have slept through the afternoon if not for you." With some effort Harry got up, the same fatigue from before crawling all over his body like worms. "I'll see you at the feast." After smiling at the ghost, Harry hurried down the corridor to the castle proper while Nick watched on in bemusement.

Climbing the stairs two steps at a time, Harry conquered flight after flight of stairs until he at last reached the entrance to the headmaster's office. An unpleasant looking gargoyle glowered at him as if demanding to know his purpose for calling upon the headmaster. Once Harry had caught his breath, he uttered the password. Begrudged as always, the gargoyle nevertheless jumped aside and bowed.

Without delay Harry jumped onto the revolving spiral staircase, trying not to concentrate on the dizziness-inducing motion. When he finally arrived at the top, he stepped off the stairs and knocked on the door. After receiving permission from within, he drew a deep breath and entered the office.

The layout of the headmaster's office resembled a partial solar eclipse when the sun joined with the moon, a perfect balance of light and dark. Rising from the upholstered armchair behind the mahogany desk was Dumbledore, whose azure eyes, hidden behind a pair of half-moon glasses, gleamed as soon as he saw Harry. Startled by the force of the gaze, Harry blinked, yet in the next second the headmaster smiled at him.

"Hello, Harry. It is rather early for you to be out of class." Dumbledore gestured for Harry to sit, and Harry sank into the chair. "What can I do for you?"

For a moment, the young Gryffindor was at a loss for words. Although he had come to the headmaster as Sirius requested, now that he was sitting before Dumbledore, words failed him. Therefore, he was grateful for the distraction when Dumbledore said, "Why don't we have a cup of tea first?"

While the headmaster prepared tea, Harry sorted through his mind. Once Dumbledore placed a cup of tea before him, he mumbled his thanks and picked up the bone china saucer. When the cup clattered loudly against the saucer, he realised his hands were shaking. Avoiding the headmaster's watchful gaze, he sipped the tea. Liquid warmth flowed down his throat into his stomach, warming his soul and easing the tremor of his hands.

Feeling more at ease, Harry began his tale, omitting only the part where the creature possessing Draco Malfoy kissed him. Throughout the narration, Dumbledore spoke not a word. If the headmaster had suspected him of omitting certain facts, he had chosen not to voice it.

"Professor, is it possible for a human body to be possessed by more than one soul?" Harry studied Dumbledore's face, which, to his disappointment, revealed not a fragment of clue into the headmaster's thought.

"Such condition is rare, though not unheard of." Leaning back, Dumbledore put down his cup and rested his hands on his abdomen. "A human body is, for a lack of a better term, designed to house one soul only. To be possessed by another soul, let alone two or more souls, would place tremendous stress on the body of the possessed. Sooner or later, the body will break."

Harry felt as though someone had hollowed out his stomach with a carving knife. "Does that mean Malfoy will die if we leave him like that?"

"Or worse. Inevitably, the spirits will fight for dominance of the body. The one who emerges victorious, regardless of whether or not he is the rightful owner, would claim the body and banish the other spirits."

Drawing a breath, Harry forced himself to think of anything but the notion of losing control of one's existence. More than once he had fallen under the venomous influence of Voldemort, had felt those clammy fingers digging into his mind; it was an experience he did not wish to relive.

The headmaster contemplated the young Gryffindor with a look of understanding. "There are three ways to bring a possession to an end: the voluntary departure of the intruding souls, the Banishing of the souls, or in the worst case," Dumbledore bowed his head, "the death of the possessed. Sirius ought to know this as well; something is keeping him from leaving Draco's body."

Bitterness ate into Harry's splintered heart like acid; the thought of losing Sirius once more was too much to bear. Looking away, Harry tried to conceal his emotion from Dumbledore's knowing gaze. "Sirius warned me about the other spirit. Whenever the other spirit took over, I felt something similar to when Voldemort is near, but it's also a bit different."

"I also had a glimpse of the other spirit possessing Draco, and I can assure you it is not Voldemort. Instead, it might be someone who was now alive in memory only." Dumbledore looked out the window, his gaze distant as if his mind had wandered to a remote land beyond time and space.

Reluctant though he was to disturb the old wizard's musing, Harry wrestled with his desire for knowledge to no avail. "Sir, can I ask you something?" As soon as those ancient eyes turned to him, the glaze within their depth faded away. Encouraged by the headmaster's smile, Harry asked, "Why is Sirius possessing Malfoy?"

"It is said that on Hallowe'en, the Veil separating the world of the living and the world of the dead is temporarily lifted, allowing the dead to visit the living. It is also said that possession often occurs on this day because of it, though I suspect Draco had a role in this. For him to be possessed by two spirits at once, magic of a potent kind must be involved. I could only surmise Draco had attempted an Evocation, that is, the summoning of the dead, a relatively innocent form of necromancy that nevertheless verges on the Dark Arts.

"However, Draco could not have accomplished the feat alone. Other forces we do not know about are at play here. It is unfortunate that I am not an expert in the study of the dead. Indeed, the dead work in mysterious ways that we the living cannot fully understand."

Puzzled, Harry frowned at the headmaster. "But Malfoy has no reason to summon Sirius, has he? Sirius once told me that he and the Malfoys did not get along."

"I have my suspicion as to whom Draco was attempting to contact," Dumbledore said slowly. "I will venture a further guess that Sirius became entangled because he was related to Draco by blood, an element which is often used in an Evocation."

"Does that mean that thing- the other spirit was the one Malfoy wanted to summon?"

For reasons that eluded Harry's comprehension, Dumbledore maintained his silence and stared at the catacomb of tomes along one wall. At length, he opened his mouth. "I do not want to colour your judgement with mere conjecture, for I am as puzzled as you are by the evidence presented."

Harry waited for the headmaster to elaborate. When Dumbledore spoke no more, the young Gryffindor took his silence as a signal to take his leave. "I want to ask one more thing. Why would Malfoy want to summon the dead? Is there someone he wished to talk to so badly?"

The headmaster's face softened in melancholy; his azure eyes flickered to a distant point beyond the window. "This is a question only Draco can answer. I believe you have class right now. So run along."

* * *

Protruded from the walls in the empty corridor, cast-iron sconces held blazing torches in their claws. Upon the lonely path Harry trod, fire light writhed against the wall, giving an impression that the castle was burning down. In half-daze he strolled past a row of windows, the blade in his heart twisting ever so slightly. One thing was certain: Sirius could not remain in Draco Malfoy's body for long. A final farewell might be all that he had time for; and Harry could bear dwelling on the second parting no more.

Something blurred his vision before a trickle of heat slid down his cheek. Pretending he was adjusting his glasses, he wiped the tears away lest he be seen. He did not have time to deal with his grief right now, he reasoned, even though a part of him knew he simply did not want to deal with it. Holding onto his pride as if it was his crutch, he steered his thought away from his godfather and to the mystery revolving around Draco Malfoy.

Wide awake though he may be, the nightmare of being trapped in the labyrinth haunted him still. Did the dream spring from his wild imagination? Or was it conjured by the other spirit possessing Draco? As he turned his mind towards the capricious spirit, he could not suppress a shudder. Whenever the other spirit took over, he felt as though he was staring at an abstract painting he could not quite interpret, while the name plate of the painting was dangling just beyond his peripheral.

At the stroke of the hour, students poured out onto the corridor, yet Harry, preoccupied with his thought, paid no heed to the crowd. Although it would be a folly to confront the creature by himself, he could remain docile no more, not if the creature was targeting him. Resolute, he elbowed his way through the crowd in search of a sliver of pallor and gold in the sea of black.

Before long, his fellow schoolmates stepped aside one after another like royal subjects in court, hushed by a prevailing presence in their midst. Sharp as an assassin's blade, Draco Malfoy came into view, cutting a wide berth amongst fresh-faced, wide-eyed witches and wizards. As his gaze fell upon Harry, who remained where he was, he stopped on his track. Grey eyes gleamed in calculation; Harry returned the gaze in defiance.

After clenching and unclenching his fist several times, Harry let out a breath. "I need to talk to you."

One pale eyebrow arched. "It is a fine day to take a stroll in the Hogwarts grounds," Draco remarked quietly. For someone who possessed such domineering presence, boisterous gesture was unnecessary.

Conflicted, Harry chewed on his inner cheek. The vastness of the Hogwarts grounds meant he had no way of knowing where Draco might lead him: a deserted area beyond all help or a trap at worst. Nevertheless, he would take his chance for the opportunity to unmask the creature. "Yes, it is."

Glacial eyes narrowed in contemplation before Draco bowed his head. "Shall we?"

"Sure." Casting not a glance at those several dozen eyes staring at them in undisguised curiosity, Harry followed Draco to the open grounds.

Dark clouds oppressed the castle as if threatening to crush the masonry. Moving with a fluidity not unlike a cat, Draco led him into the woods. Harry paused for a heartbeat before trailing after the other boy; he had come this far, and he would not be dissuade by whatever danger that might lie ahead. Dry leaves groaned beneath their feet as if the earth was suffering from throes of death; trees whispered amongst themselves as the wind passed by.

When Harry and Draco arrived at the lake, a panorama of water, mountains and sky expanded outwards into the horizon. Beneath the reflection of the impressionistic landscape across the water, one's eyes could not penetrate through the ominous depth of the lake. As Harry looked out at the scenery, he was reminded, with disturbing clarity, of the silence and the eerie light in the deep.

Like a general surveying the land he was about to conquer, Draco stood with his hands behind his back and his chin tilted upward. "Mr Potter." The silken intonation evoked in Harry's mind a figure whose name he could not recall. "May I inquire about the meaning of this meeting?"

Taking every precaution, Harry kept his hand on his wand and his eyes on Draco lest the other boy attempt to overpower him. "What did you do to me?"

Draco raised a pale eyebrow in condescension. "Oh? Why do you presume I have, as your words suggested, done something to you?"

Annoyed by the patronising tone, Harry narrowed his eyes. "You attacked me. I think that speaks for itself."

Amusement flirted about Draco's lips like the faintest of a ripple. "It was hardly an attack, Mr Potter. Alas, someone as young and untried as you are might think otherwise."

His cheeks flushing in indignation, Harry endured the sting and noted that the spirit did not deny what happened. "All right, I'll stop beating around the bushes. Did you put a curse on me?"

Shrewd eyes cast an icy glance at Harry, prompting the dark-haired boy to heighten his guard. "It appears Dumbledore had neglected to instil proper manners and common sense in his pupils." Draco's expression grew pensive. "Then again, I am beginning to comprehend the reason behind Voldemort's interest in you."

Harry's heart skipped a beat, for Draco had uttered the Dark Lord's name, an act that was considered a taboo amongst common witches and wizards, and blasphemy amongst supporters of the Dark Lord. May it not be possible that this spirit currently speaking through Draco was an ally?

As though he had lost interest in Harry, Draco gazed outwards at a pack of ravens circling the hills in anticipation of a macabre revelry. "You possess the potential but not the discipline. Your instinct has guided you so far, but that is not enough. What you lack most of all is resolve."

Agitation flashed across Harry's mind. "Are you saying I don't have what it takes to be Voldemort's opponent?"

The spirit who wore Draco Malfoy's skin like a cloak continued as if he had not heard a word. "The resolve to survive and the resolve to kill. On the battlefield, only life and death exist. One utilises whatever means at one's disposal to survive, be it black or white, light or dark."

The memory of his failed attempt to cast a Cruciatus on Bellatrix Lestrange left a bitter taste in Harry's mouth. Deep in the recess of his heart, another being he did not wish to recognise rattled the cage. "I'm not the same as Voldemort and his followers." Harry heard himself say. "I won't use dark curses to hurt or to kill."

Draco's voice lowered to a dangerous whisper. "How noble of you. However, such naive thinking has no place on the battlefield. The surviving power rewrites history and shapes the future. The dead are left to lament and rot in their coffins, posing no more influence to the world than serving as nourishment for the worms."

Sickened by the gruesome imagery, Harry gritted his teeth. "Their sacrifice makes a difference. Their memory lives on in us. It's one of the reasons we can go on."

"And with that you shackle yourself to what you perceive to be the will of the dead." Draco's stoic profile could have been chiselled from the most adamant of ice. "The dead have no place in this world. Remember that well. You cannot defeat Voldemort if you allow your sentimentality cloud your judgement."

The precision with which this man had dissected his mentality unnerved Harry. Even more unsettling still was the fact that this man had mentioned the very thing that was plaguing his mind. As agitation gave way to nervousness, Harry licked his dry lips before finding his voice. "You want me to win?"

With dignified poise none but the best of schemers could master, Draco turned to him, yet the hint of contempt ever lurking about his lips had vanished. "Would you rather lose instead?" The spirit challenged him.

When he stared into those piercing eyes, Harry realised with a start that this man was not his attacker. The spirit who had attacked him was a mass of chaos and contradictions; this spirit, on the other hand, was as biting and severe as a glacier. Behind his harsh, unyielding words lurked truth and wisdom, a brutal lesson, however unlike Dumbledore's guidance, that had struck a chord in Harry.

Choosing his words with care, Harry replied in a respectful tone that surprised himself, "I am not trying to come out on top. I only want to avenge for my parents' death and prevent people I care about from being harmed. Most of all, I want to sever Voldemort's influence on my life."

"A fool's sentiment, but an admirable fool." Draco cradled his chin thoughtfully before whispering to himself. "Yes, I suppose it would do."

The note of finality made Harry wonder if he had somehow passed the test set upon by this mysterious spirit, who had built upon a labyrinth and raised a tower worthy of the name Babel. "Who are you?"

"I am Abraxas Malfoy, Draco's grandfather. Lucius is my fool of a son."

Stunned by the admission, Harry lost his voice for a tantalising moment. Tightening his grip, he took a step back and whipped out his wand. A twig creaked beneath his heel, but it barely broke the tension looming over the space between him and the spirit.

"A young cub knows no fear, I see. Your lack of subtlety will conspire against you one day." The spirit claiming to be Abraxas Malfoy drawled in a bored tone reminiscent of the boy he possessed.

"I don't understand." Harry glared at the spirit, not daring to miss the slightest hint of movement. "Your son is a Death Eater, and your family endorses the ideology Voldemort preaches. But you are telling me that you want Voldemort defeated. I find that hard to believe."

Abraxas Malfoy raised a haughty eyebrow, an expression he had evidently passed onto his heir. "My son and I had a disagreement over the issue, a family matter that concerns you not. Regardless, I need not justify myself to you any further, Mr Potter. But know that your enemy lies elsewhere."

If this man could defeat Snape in a duel, he could overcome a sixteen-year-old wizard, yet he did no such thing. As Harry studied the forceful presence of a man who questioned assumptions and spoke the truth one must hear, he wondered if Abraxas Malfoy was lenient to him on purpose. Although his paranoid self warned him of possible deceit, he lowered his wand after a moment of hesitation.

"One supposes you are not as foolish as your appearance suggests." Cool though was the voice coming out of Draco's mouth, Harry detected a hint of approval. "I wonder..."

In two measured steps Abraxas Malfoy moved forward and held Harry's face in his palms. Startled by those cold hands, Harry flinched, but he did not move away. Something about the water-like coolness of this man made him believe that this man meant no harm. After a heartbeat, the Malfoy elder ceremoniously pressed his lips against Harry's brow, a touch of chill liken to a snowflake's kiss. When Abraxas Malfoy pulled away, he stumbled as though strength had failed him, and Harry immediately held out his arms to keep the man steady.

"Are you all right, Mr Malfoy? Do you want me to call someone here?"

Abraxas Malfoy waved aside his question while clenching his teeth, the only indication that he was in pain. In the next moment, a most unexpected response came out of the man's mouth. "Harry?"

As soon as he realised his godfather had taken over control, relief and worry washed over Harry like warring colours on a canvas. "Sirius, are you all right?"

"Loads better. In fact, I've never been better since your father stepped on my canine tail with his hoof." The grimace on Sirius' face detracted some of the humour, but Harry tried to grin at his godfather's attempt. "Have you spoken to Dumbledore yet?"

"Yes, I have, and he said-"

"Not now." To Harry's confusion, Sirius pushed him away. "He's probably listening."

"Are you talking about Abraxas Malfoy?" Harry ventured a guess, but even before his godfather shook his head, he knew the riddle had already unravelled before his eyes. "Or the other man?"

"I couldn't stop him," Sirius gritted through his teeth before clutching his head in ill-concealed agony, his body contorted as though some unnamed creature was forcing its way out of the fleshly prison. "He's almost here. Go now, Harry!"

"Sirius, who is he? What's going on?" Harry moved forward again, but Sirius growled and shoved him away. Slightly hurt from the gesture, Harry widened his eyes in surprise as Sirius trained the wand at him.

"Go," Sirius said, his breathing laborious and his eyes pleading for the young wizard to understand. "Go warn Dumbledore before it's too late."

Looking from the wand to the grim face twisted in suffering, Harry knew, against his heart's desire, what he must do. "Okay. Just hold on. I'll come back for you." When Sirius gave him a pained smile, Harry hardened his resolve and sprinted back into the woods.

Suffocating silence reigned the forest that had suddenly seemed as overgrown as a tropical jungle. Night had descended upon the woods, transforming everything into shadows; and yet Harry dared not light his wand, for he sensed eyes watching him in the dark. Looking behind him, he saw silhouettes of shrubs and trees blocking the path he came from, and with a sinking feeling, he realised he would not be able to find his way back to Sirius.

Lost in the wilderness, he raced frantically towards the direction that his instinct told him would lead to the exit of this maze. As his feet trampled upon the earth, he stepped on twigs and what might have been bones. The stench of rot and decay permeated the air as though he was trapped in a catacomb sealed for centuries. It surrounded him, clawing for him, yearning to devour him.

When he at last escaped the labyrinth, he found to his dread a familiar figure waiting for him in the open ground. The deepening dusk had showered a film of lapis lazuli upon the figure's fair hair and pallid skin. A raven of the most glossy of black was perching on the figure's shoulder. As a strong gust whipped past Draco Malfoy's frame, his robe billowed like a pair of wings.

Ever so slowly, Draco's lips curled into a gentle smile reserved for an old friend he had not met in years. And yet, every strand of Harry's nerves was stretched to the limit, ready to snap at a moment's provocation. Voldemort was feared for the predictable extent of his cruelty; this creature, on the other hand, unsettled Harry precisely because of its unpredictability.

In a mellow voice that sounded disconcertingly melodic, the creature said, "Hello, young Harry Potter."

Spellbound by the contradiction inherent in this mercurial spirit before him, Harry found himself unable to move, his wand held useless in his hand. With the grace and courtesy of a well-mannered host attending to his guest in the drawing-room, Draco strolled towards him.

"An author once wrote, _'In our endeavours to recall to memory something long forgotten, we often find ourselves upon the very verge of remembrance, without being able, in the end, to remember.' _I always find this statement illuminating." Draco halted several paces away from Harry. "Would you not agree?" _[1]_

When Harry did not respond, Draco heaved a sigh. "It appears my presence frightens you. Every time you see me, you attempt to flee. Surely I am not as intimidating as dear old Abraxas?" He crooked his head to one side like a curious bird. "Or perhaps you would prefer to speak to _cher _Sirius or young Draco Malfoy instead? I am afraid they are preoccupied at the moment."

At last recovering his wit and his voice, Harry aimed his wand at the creature, who merely broadened his smile. "Who are you?"

"Ah, where are my manners?" Draco offered an apologetic bow to Harry, his demeanour refined but peppered with mockery. "Augustus Grindelwald at your service, young Harry Potter."

The man extended his hand, but Harry did not take it. The surname Grindelwald struck a familiar note in Harry's memory, though he could not recall where he might have encountered the name before.

Unmindful of the discourtesy done to him, Grindelwald coaxed the raven, and the bird hopped onto his outstretched arm. Eyes of the most volatile of hazel analysed Harry with the clinical efficiency of an anatomist. It took Harry much effort to stifle the urge to shudder and surrender to the inhumanly detached gaze. Unlike Abraxas Malfoy's calculated manner bespoke of a master of intrigue, there was something corrosive about Grindelwald's presence that made him feel violated.

"Curious," Grindelwald observed. "You are cursed by a wizard." He tilted his head as though listening to the wind. "By Tom Riddle, now known as Voldemort. Well, well, I am not surprised that boy turned out the way he did." There was a pause. "You are also blessed by a mother's sacrifice and a wizard's blessing. Although, I wonder why Abraxas went through the trouble of granting you the Blessing."

Beside himself in awe, Harry forgot for the moment that he was facing a dangerous adversary. "Abraxas Malfoy blessed me? Why?"

"Why indeed." Grindelwald smiled affectionately as if Harry was his proud apprentice. When he flung his arm upward, the raven soared into the darkening sky. "Then again, it is said that the Malfoy Blessing can be both a blessing and a curse."

Too many strands of information cluttered Harry's mind that the young Gryffindor could barely untangle the knots. Thrusting aside his perplexity for the time being, Harry asked, "What did you do to me?"

The perpetual smile lurking about Grindelwald's lips became ever so evasive; Harry felt a sinking sensation at the pit of his stomach. "What would be the fun in that if you do not discover the answer yourself, young Harry?" His half-closed eyes gazed at something beyond Harry's shoulder. "How nice of you to join us, Albus. For a moment, I worried that you were lost."

When a bony hand landed on his shoulder, Harry gave a start and wheeled around, only to find the headmaster standing behind him. Dumbledore cast a glance at Harry's face for a heartbeat before turning his attention to Grindelwald. Somewhat reassured by the headmaster's presence, Harry lowered his wand.

"Your invitation was so subtle and unexpected that I nearly missed the signature." Nostalgia, mingling with some other emotion Harry could not decipher, coloured Dumbledore's voice. "It has been more than fifty years since we last spoke. How are you, Augustus?"

Those hazel irises of Grindelwald's softened while warmth flirted about the edges of his visage. "As good as the departed can be, my old friend. I see you have done well. To ascend the throne that is the headmaster of Hogwarts is no mean feat."

"I fear I am getting on my years. In the span of fifty years, a young maiden will blossom into womanhood and grow old to see her grandchildren gather by her side-"

"-and a butterfly will die countless deaths and transmigrate into countless incarnations." The other man finished Dumbledore's sentence for him.

The amicable exchange between the headmaster and the creature bewildered Harry, and yet, behind the facade of this pleasant reunion, a dangerous undercurrent lurked. Like lions in the Colosseum, the two wizards circled each other and patiently awaited the perfect moment to pounce.

"It appears you have perfected the Evocation ritual, albeit leaving the conjuror to pay a price he knows nothing of beforehand." Placid though was the headmaster's voice, Harry winced as if he was the one being lashed by those words.

Despite Dumbledore's remark, Grindelwald remained admirably unfazed. "Do you truly believe I would turn the wand on myself without making arrangement for my eventual return to the world of the living? Come now, you know me better than this."

Something akin to pain and sorrow flitted across the old wizard's face. "That I do." Melancholy passed on like a leaf in the wind; solemnity dominated in its stead. "I ask that you relinquish your control over my pupil."

Grindelwald heaved a sigh. "That will not do, Albus. There is something about this pupil of yours that you evidently have no knowledge of, therefore your request lacks weight. Poor Draco. You know so little of him." Harry was on the verge of defending the headmaster, but Dumbledore stopped him.

"If you attempt a Banishment," Grindelwald continued, "you risk banishing Draco's soul from his own body, at which point I shall take control. Well then, would you be willing to cast the Killing curse on your pupil in order to be rid of me?" Neither his mellifluous voice nor his gentle smile faltered for a beat. "Time flies, my friend. Decide."

Unable to contain himself, Harry inhaled sharply as he recalled Dumbledore's explanation on ways to end a possession. If Grindelwald refused to leave and a Banishment might end up giving the man exactly what he wanted, the only option left was death.

A glint flashed within those sharp eyes of Dumbledore's, giving those present a glimpse of the great wizard whom many admired and many more feared. "I will not do that, Augustus."

For a delirious second, Harry detected a hint of wistfulness beneath Grindelwald's borrowed visage. "Yes, that would be your answer. Always the empathetic professor, whose kindness verges on cruelty. You refused to kill me even when we fought. I confess I was disappointed."

It took Harry some time to realise Dumbledore was moving discreetly away from him. Surmising what the headmaster was planning to do, he tightened the hold on his wand. "There are more ways to destroy a man than death alone," Dumbledore remarked.

"And that was how you came to witness my demise at my own hand." A strange light flickered in Grindelwald's eyes like the ghostly moon. "I suppose you would like to witness it again?"

With a swiftness neither Dumbledore nor Harry had anticipated, Grindelwald pulled out Draco's wand and pointed it at his temple. Instinct compelled Harry to disarm the man, but the headmaster was several moves ahead. A blur of crimson robe blocked Harry's sight; a powerful force knocked him out of harm's way. When he got up, he saw Dumbledore deflecting the hailstorm of curses Grindelwald rained down upon him.

A flock of ravens shot towards Dumbledore, who, wielding his wand like a paintbrush, wove a net of white light in the air, blocking the ravens' advance. Croaking in fury, the winged messengers struggled against the web before dissolving into smoke. The smoke had barely cleared when Grindelwald dashed forward and slashed sideways at Dumbledore. Hastily Dumbledore slammed a shield against him and took a step back; yet Grindelwald's curse sliced through the shield as if it was made of paper. The curse struck Dumbledore across the neck and slit his throat open. Nevertheless, the wound must be more shallow than it appeared, for without a pause, Dumbledore whipped out a fiery cat-o'-nine tails from his wand and lashed at Grindelwald. Quick as a leopard, Grindelwald rolled out of the way and landed in a crouch. Fire blazed through the spot he had been standing a second ago.

Straightening, Grindelwald inspected the singed hem of his robe and remarked mildly, "That's not very nice, Albus. You tried to set fire on a robe that is not even mine."

No longer smiling, Dumbledore raised his wand in the _en-garde _position. "I shall desist as soon as you agree to release Draco."

Grindelwald flashed Dumbledore a devious grin and raised his wand. "I might consider - if you defeat me."

Flying out of Grindelwald's wand was a dragon composed of water, its likeness to a real dragon left Harry staring in awe. Dwarfed by the aquatic monster, Dumbledore nonetheless stood firm. When the beast sailed towards Dumbledore, fire erupted from Dumbledore's wand and took the shape of a phoenix. As soon as the pair of unearthly creatures collided, vapour spread so rapidly across the field that Harry could not escape in time.

Drowning in the fog, Harry coughed and waved his hand around, hoping beyond hope that doing so would dispel the steam. He could see nothing beyond a film of white; he could hear nothing beyond his own racing heartbeat; he could have been all alone in the fog. At length, a flicker of movement attracted his gaze like a crack in the mirror, and he heard a voice whispering into his ear, "_Obscuris vera involvens._" _[2]_

Startled out of his wit, he wheeled around, and yet, there was nothing behind him except more mist. Shaking his head, he snapped himself out of the daze and called for help. "_Expecto Patronum!_"

A stag in spectral blue glided out of his wand. "Go find help," Harry commanded, and the stag, after bowing its head, galloped towards the direction where Harry presumed the castle lay.

Suddenly, a strong gust whipped across the field, knocking the breath out of Harry and blowing away the mist. As the fog thinned, he saw two streaks of gold flying across the field in opposite directions, and at once two figures were thrown backward, one as red as the somnolent poppy, the other black as the darkest of orchid. His heart leaping to his throat, Harry ran to Dumbledore's side and supported him. The headmaster's face was ashen and contorted, his beard stained with blood that dripped down his mouth.

On the other side, Grindelwald, struggling to get up, chuckled and coughed at the same time. "I take back my words. You are not as genial as you would like to lead others to believe. Although, I confess I have not considered for a moment that you remember this curse, let alone cast it upon a pupil of yours."

Eyes contemplating the face of his rebellious pupil, Dumbledore smiled a rueful if twisted smile. "How can I forget a curse that you and I created?"

In response, Grindelwald returned a wry smile of his own, conveying a message no one but the two old friends could comprehend. "It is done." He cast a glance at Harry, who could only stare at him in confusion. When Grindelwald locked eyes with Dumbledore, his lips curled into a mysterious smile. "Farewell, my friend. I shall see you on the other side of the Veil."

Before either Harry or Dumbledore could stop him, Grindelwald turned the wand on himself, lighting Draco's face with a flash of unearthly green. His breath stolen away by horror, Harry half-expected Draco to collapse like a discarded puppet. Yet Draco's eyes did not go blank; instead, the young Slytherin threw his head back and screamed, the sound so piercing that Harry felt his hair raise. No human alive could have produced a more tortuous cry laden with the blackest of human emotions.

When the scream ceased, a black shadow came out of Draco's mouth, spread its raven wings, and took flight. As if woken from a nightmare, Draco gasped for air. Without a moment of delay, Dumbledore pressed Harry to help him reach Draco's side, and knowing better than to argue, Harry did as he was told.

Grimacing, the young Slytherin held his midriff, his voice hoarse from screaming. "I'm sorry, Dumbledore. Grindelwald's will-power was so strong that I couldn't stop him. And," he swallowed, "Draco made the pact with him."

"I know, Sirius," Dumbledore said, and Harry, feeling too many strands of emotions wrapping around his thought, suppressed the urge to clutch to his godfather like a child. "We shall deal with the consequences as they come. How are you feeling?"

"I'll be fine, though I can't say the same about the boy himself." With that Sirius turned to Harry, his lips twisted into a grim smile. "This is it, Harry."

Unable to contain himself anymore, Harry let go of Dumbledore and dropped to his knees. If he did not speak his mind now, he feared he would not have another chance. "Don't go, Sirius. I'm sure there is a way for you to stay without harming anyone." He looked pleadingly to Dumbledore for support, but the headmaster shook his head.

"Harry." Sirius clasped a hand on Harry's shoulder, forcing him to abandon his fruitless cause. "I have passed on. I'm only here because today is Hallowe'en. I don't belong in this world anymore. But listen, as long as you remember me, I'll always be here," he pointed at Harry's forehead, "and here." He pointed at Harry's chest.

Something burnt Harry's eyes as he recalled those very words Sirius had said to him on a certain moonlit night too many months ago, and of a promise that would never be realised. "I know. It's just that-" He took a deep breath to keep his voice from cracking. "I won't be able to see you again."

"Perhaps. Perhaps not." Sirius looked into his eyes, neither judging nor pampering. "Whatever happens, you will always be my favourite godson."

"Am I not your only godson?" Despite himself, Harry could not help but smile. The knot between his brows deepened as he fought back the mist gathering in his eyes. He would not shed his tears before his godfather, for he was not a child anymore.

However, Sirius must have noticed how bright Harry's eyes were, for his expression softened. "Yeah." Sirius patted him on the head and showed him one final grin. "Goodbye, Harry. Take care of yourself."

However reluctant he was to say farewell, Harry knew it was time to let go. "Goodbye, Sirius."

As soon as the tender hand fell away from him, he knew Sirius was gone. Draco's eyes, now piercing silver, turned to the headmaster. "Dumbledore," Abraxas Malfoy said, his expression all but unreadable. "I shall leave the rest to you."

The light in his eyes dimmed yet determined, Dumbledore nodded. Caught in the whirlwind of his inner turmoil, Harry stared at Draco's face, unaware that everything gradually faded to black as if poison had robbed him of his sight.

* * *

_To be continued..._

[1] From Edgar Allan Poe's short story, "Ligeia".

[2] Obscuris vera involvens: Obscurity envelops truth.

A/N: The revised version of Part II is split into two part because it's too long. The placement of the split is different from the original version.

In this story, Augustus Grindelwald is unrelated to Gellert Grindelwald in the canon. At the time I wrote this story, Grindelwald was no more than a surname on Dumbledore's Chocolate Frog card. I took what little information was offered on the Chocolate Frog card and made up the rest.

I can never decide whether I like Abraxas Malfoy better or Augustus Grindelwald better. Abraxas is a schemer belonging to the darker shade of grey, whereas Augustus is my vision of the gentle killer and the deadly trickster (or as I used to say, a darkly delicious character).


	4. Part II Contd

Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter and its characters are not mine. The poem "The Raven" belongs to Edgar Allan Poe.

A/N: This is the second portion of Part II, revised.

**When the Black Veil Flutters**

_Part II: On the Spinning Carousel, Continued._

The facade of a house loomed over him, the sole survivor of what was once a magnificent mansion. The roof had caved in and floors given way to pressure and decay; one could see the murky grey sky peeking out from broken windows. Before him, a tattered black veil concealed the entrance to the house. Behind him, a path carpeted with red poppies hovered above an abyss of infinite night. Above him, the sky splintered like a mirror.

As he looked up, a piece of the sky fell off and whistled past him into the abyss. Wheeling around, he looked over the ledge at the glittering fragment slowly being devoured by the dark; and yet, there was no sound to signal its landing. After letting out a breath, he surveyed his surroundings, somehow knowing what he would behold.

There were three ways to escape this desolation. He could jump into the abyss and become a lost soul for eternity; he could follow the scarlet path and return to wherever he ought to be; or he could walk through the veil to the other side and forfeit his life.

When he turned to the veil, which seemed more frayed than before, he saw a hand white as ice reaching out from the other side. The skin glowed with such deathly pallor that it could only belong to the dead, and yet, he found himself unable to avert his gaze. Fascinated by its ghastliness, he felt compelled, even obligated, to take the hand, as though such was his birthright.

After a pause that could have been a lifetime, he reached out and curled his fingers around the hand. The skin beneath his palm was cold and clammy, the hand unmoving as if it truly belonged to a corpse. While he watched in unwholesome wonder, blood trickled down the arm attached to the hand and stained his. As crimson joined their hands in an irrevocable bond, he felt long fingers tighten around his wrist.

He could not tell if he was trying to pull the hand to this side or if the hand was trying to pull him to the other side. When the landing he was standing on crumbled away, he fell into the abyss, clutching still the hand that was in turn clutching his. An inhuman cry that might or might not be his reached his ear, but that seemed insignificant when the abyss caught him and swallowed him whole.

* * *

The sound of rain splashing against the window stirred Harry from his dream-like vision. Tilting his head to the side, he saw a blur of light and three human shadows moving across the pale curtain. Hushed voices engaged in what sounded like a heated argument. As he watched the shadow play being unfolded, he wondered where he was. The smell of disinfectant provided the clue: he was in the hospital wing.

At length, the muttering ceased, and two sets of footsteps led away to the direction of the door. When the door creaked shut, the light grew dim as if signalling the end of the stage play. Harry sat up quietly and reached for his glasses by the pillow. As soon as the world came into focus, the curtain surrounding his bed was pulled aside. Madam Pomfrey came in, bearing a glass of potion in her hand.

"Good, you are awake." Without ceremony Pomfrey thrust the glass into Harry's hand. "Drink this. It will calm your nerves."

"Nothing is wrong with my nerves," Harry muttered under his breath. Nevertheless, Pomfrey's stern glare made him think twice about protesting further. In several swallows he finished the glass of potion, which tasted like wormwood. "How is Professor Dumbledore?"

"He'll be fine in two weeks, as long as he doesn't move around." Pomfrey fussed with the pillows as if emphasising what a troublesome patient the headmaster of Hogwarts made. "Honestly, he's not a lad anymore."

"How is," Harry paused to lick his dry lips, "Malfoy?"

A shadow passed across the matron's countenance. "We don't know yet. Considering what happened, it would be best if we take him to the hospital." Pomfrey plucked the glass out of Harry's hand. "Sleep. You can worry about the rest later. If you need anything, I'll be in my office." With that she withdrew from Harry's bedside and left.

Harry took her advice and lay down on the bed; nonetheless, sleep eluded him. With nothing but his thoughts and the pitter-patter of rain as his companions, he had never felt more alone. The hollow in his heart was torn wide open by phantom claws. Had he not spoken to Pomfrey, he could have pretended Sirius had not returned to his side, had not returned and then left him once more.

Heat stung his eyes; the ceiling seemed distorted as though the world was submerged in the lowest depth of the sea. As the first teardrop fell, he removed his glasses and pressed the back of his hand against his eyes. He made no attempt to wipe the tears away, for he was alone. Curled up on his side like a child, he pulled the blanket over himself and cried as if he had never cried before.

* * *

The October downpour mellowed into November drizzle as Harry, exhausted in spirit, drifted in and out of sleep. When he woke from the restless slumber, he found the day barely breaking. Straining his ear, he heard nothing stir in the hospital wing. Quietly he pulled on his school uniform, grabbed his wand from the nightstand, and slipped out of the cocoon that had shielded him, however temporarily, from the rest of the world. There was something he wanted to do.

At the far end of the ward, candlelight illuminated the off-white screen that barricaded one of the beds. Harry could not tell whether it was Dumbledore or Draco sleeping behind the canvas. Driven by curiosity, he approached the screen. He was about to peek in when a voice came through from the other side, "Good morning, Harry. Why don't you come over here so that we can talk?"

At once relieved and disappointed to hear Dumbledore's voice, Harry came around the screen. Propped up by several pillows, Dumbledore was playing chess by himself. The wrinkles on his face deepened like barks of an ancient tree, yet his smile remained genial. Bashful, Harry wondered if the headmaster heard him cry last night.

"Good morning, Professor Dumbledore." Harry sat down on the chair by Dumbledore's bedside. "I thought Madam Pomfrey would insist that you get more rest."

"A man of my age does not require as much sleep as a young man such as yourself," Dumbledore remarked. Absently he moved one of the pieces on the chessboard; Harry noted the chess set was not the wizard kind. "There are questions you wish to ask me."

Folding his hands together, Harry leant forward and uttered the first thing that came to his mind, "How is Malfoy?"

Azure eyes flickered for a second before resuming their placid expression. "He has been transferred to St Mungo's. How the possession, combined with the violent departure of the spirits, would affect him is still unknown. Unfortunately, we do not know the extent of his condition until he wakes. There is also a likelihood that he will not wake."

Sucking in a sharp breath, Harry could not think, could not speak, could not even exhale. Without his conscious knowledge, he gripped his hands so tightly that his nails left crescent marks on the back of his hands. "That man - Augustus Grindelwald - didn't use the Killing curse on him, did he?"

"No, it was not the Killing curse, but beyond that I cannot tell." Dumbledore abandoned the game and rested his bony hands on the blanket. "I have a notion that it might be connected to the pact Sirius had mentioned. However..."

"We won't know the details until we ask Malfoy." Harry finished the train of thought for the headmaster, who nodded. After taking a deep breath, he loosened his hands and stared at the row of empty beds beyond Dumbledore's. "What kind of man was Augustus Grindelwald?"

A shadow descended over Dumbledore's brow, but Harry did not see it. "He was an eccentric but talented man. His thirst for knowledge knew no bound, as did his brilliance. As you can tell, Augustus and I were friends. We attended Hogwarts together, and we conducted research together. In the end, however, we parted ways."

The headmaster's next remark was spoken in such a low voice that Harry thought it might have been the wind whistling past an open window. "Who would have thought love can so utterly destroy a man?"

Puzzled, Harry turned to Dumbledore, who had regained his composure. "His whimsical way was the main reason his actions appeared unpredictable," Dumbledore continued. "Nevertheless, beneath a facade of uncontrollable impulses, he always had a motive in sight. Nothing about him was arbitrary."

A chill trailed down Harry's spine and reminded him of his brief but cryptic conversation with Grindelwald. "Am I his target?"

For a disconcerting moment, Dumbledore's eyes sharpened. When the headmaster spoke again, however, his tone was mild. "He placed a mark on you to inform me of his presence, that's all. I apologise for not informing you sooner."

"No, it's fine. I'm glad to know that's all it is." Harry dismissed the apology despite the growing trepidation in his mind. After a pause, he leant back against the chair. "That man said Abraxas Malfoy granted me the Malfoy Blessing. Does that mean anything to you?"

"I must once more ask for your forgiveness, for I am not at liberty to say. It falls to those of the Malfoy bloodline to explain to you its meaning. Therefore, I fear you must ask either Draco or Lucius. To ease your misgivings, I shall say this: the Blessing might help you when the situation grows dire."

However well-meaning Dumbledore's reassurance was, it did not comfort Harry, for he could not imagine asking either Draco or Lucius Malfoy for an explanation. Although he chose to believe Abraxas Malfoy, he wanted to know more about this man. "Can Abraxas Malfoy be trusted?"

Dumbledore cradled his chin. "Let me put it this way. Abraxas was a proud man who served no one but himself. It was known among certain circles that he was displeased when Lucius decided to support Lord Voldemort."

"Despite the whole pureblood business?" Harry challenged.

"I presume his foresight had warned him of the carnage that ensued. Abraxas might be a ruthless man, but he preferred intrigue over bloodshed. More likely still, he despised Voldemort."

Harry took his time to digest the information. The monotonous murmur of rain trickled in through an open window. Traces of last night's battle had probably been washed away; what was left behind was an interlocking series of riddles only one person could solve.

_There__ is__ something__ about__ this__ pupil__ of__ yours__ that __you __evidently__ have __no __knowledge__ of,_ Grindelwald's remark echoed in Harry's mind. Unable to resist, Harry stole a glance at Dumbledore, who was contemplating the pieces on the chessboard. Was Grindelwald merely trying to infuriate Dumbledore? Or did he truly mean what he said? If so, what was Grindelwald referring to?

"If you have other places to go to," Dumbledore said suddenly, which gave Harry a start, "I shall ensure Madam Pomfrey will not hold it against you."

It took Harry some time to gather his thought and remember why he got up at such an ungodly hour in the first place. "Thanks, Professor," Harry said. "I hope you will get well soon." Dumbledore smiled at him before returning to the solitary game. Quietly Harry left the hospital wing and closed the door behind him.

Hogwarts before dawn was exceptionally serene; Harry encountered neither the living nor the dead. As he made his descent down the worn stone steps, the lofty ceiling amplified the sound of his footfall. The alternating pattern of grey-hued walls and paned windows ought to be a familiar scenery, yet something seemed different about these corridors he had passed through everyday; perhaps he was the one who had changed.

Beyond the moss-covered archway leading to open grounds, drizzle enveloped the field and distant hills. The blue hour before daybreak lent the cloudy sky an ambiguous shade of cerulean. After taking in the refreshing cool air, Harry strolled across the field to a lonely corner, where the Whomping Willow stood dormant like an automaton suspended in motion.

With a pang, he remembered it was at this very spot that he encountered a certain Animagus in the guise of the Grim. No other place would do but here. Steeling his mind, he whipped out his wand and took a step forward. The limbs of the sentient tree began to stir, but the young wizard was prepared. Agile as a cat, he dodged the tree's attack and slid to the base of the tree. When he touched a certain knot, the tree fell silent in an instant.

Harry let out a breath and sat down against the trunk. After a pause, he conjured a piece of plank to him and, using his wand, carved out his godfather's name on the plank, followed by the year of death and Harry's own initials. Had he known what year Sirius was born in, he would have inscribed the year of birth as well. He had always thought that he would have ample of time to learn more about his godfather, but now he had lost his chance.

Biting his lip, Harry erected the marker on the ground beside the tree. As though answering his prayer, the limbs of the willow swayed slightly against the gentle breeze. The Whomping Willow would guard the marker for as long as the plank survived the elements and other natural predators.

Light drizzle had turned into heavy rain, soaking his clothes and beating against his body. The hole left behind by Sirius' departure would never entirely disappear; nevertheless, Harry knew he would be able to bear the loss a little better from now on. With some effort, he tore himself away from the empty grave and made his way back to the castle.

When he at last returned to the hospital wing, he found Ron and Hermione pacing to and fro in counterpoint to each other in front of the closed double doors. His despondent spirit lifted by the sight of his two best friends, Harry walked up to them with a sheepish smile on his face.

As soon as Hermione caught sight of Harry, she bounced forward and exclaimed, "Harry, what happened to you? You look like you'd rolled down the hill and then fallen into the lake!" She pulled out her wand and started casting spell after spell on him.

"It's more like he fell off the broom and took a dive in the lake with the Giant Squid," Ron commented before patting Harry on the back. "Bloody hell, you are wet as a dog." The good-natured smile on his face spoke volume of how glad he was to see Harry looking no worse than before, though the remark earned him a glare from Hermione.

"I appreciate the imagery," Harry said wryly as he felt Hermione's charm spreading warmth across his body. "Let's hope I'm not smelling like one." When Ron grinned broadly and Hermione smiled, he knew he had returned home at last.

Over early breakfast in the kitchen, Ron and Hermione told Harry what happened after he left with Draco. Hermione, surmising that something had happened to him when he did not return, went to Dumbledore and told him what happened. Dumbledore then asked McGonagall and Snape to keep the students in the Great Hall, and the headmaster himself headed out to the grounds. When Harry's Patronus charged into the Great Hall, McGonagall and Snape went out to help. Needless to say, the student body was in an uproar.

Cupping a mug of warm tea, Harry listened to his friends' narration, but he found his thought slowly drifting away. As he cast a glance at the long, empty tables positioned in the same manner as their siblings upstairs, he wondered if Draco Malfoy was dreaming of black wings and black veil.

* * *

November languished on while rumours continued to fly in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardary; nevertheless, no wild theories ever came close to the truth. Those who knew the truth chose to maintain their silence. Gradually, life at Hogwarts returned to its normalcy, peace at times punctured by unease over the unrest beyond the ivory tower.

The weather grew cold as days turned to weeks, yet Draco Malfoy remained deep in his slumber, dreaming of what no one could tell. Some at St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries whispered that he might have already fallen beyond anyone's help.

Icy drizzle fell upon the unsuspecting city one late November morning. A raven, far from its habitat, landed on the window-sill outside a certain room at St Mungo's and looked in through the glass, its impregnable black eyes reflecting the silhouette of a young man lying unconscious in bed. Crooking its head to one side, the raven croaked. Woken by the sound, Draco opened his eyes.

Turning his groggy eyes towards the raven outside the window, Draco stared at the creature for such a long time that one would think he had fallen asleep once more. Nevertheless, the daze in his eyes gradually faded as though whatever the raven was communicating to him had brought him back to reality. Slowly he struggled to get up. He had been lying in bed for too long that his body refused to respond, yet he persisted, his arms shaking as he pushed himself to a sitting position. All this time, the raven watched him in silence.

At length, Draco licked his parched lips and recited a certain verse he knew by heart. "_What__ this__ grim,__ ungainly,__ ghastly,__ gaunt,__ and__ ominous__ bird__ of__ yore __meant__ in__ croaking__ 'Nevermore.'_" When the raven cried out mockingly in response, Draco smiled a conspiring smile as though he was sharing an inside joke with the animal. _[1]_

_To be continued..._

[1] From Edgar Allan Poe's poem, "The Raven".

A/N: A more introspective chapter. This is the only chapter where I have added a new scene to the revision. It gives Harry a more complete closure regarding Sirius' passing. In the very first draft of this story, the initial intent was just that. When I edited and revised the draft, however, the story took a turn towards Gothic horror instead.


	5. Epilogue

Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter and its characters are not mine.

A/N: The final revised chapter to this story.

**When the Black Veil Flutters**

_Epilogue: "Ashes, ashes, we all fall down." [1]_

Strong wind rattled windows as Harry made his way to one of many towers in Hogwarts, for a meeting he could not refuse. Day had passed into dusk, cloudy sky cleared into velvet blue. The waxing crescent had risen, glowing as brightly as vampire's fangs bared before the bite. Nevertheless, nothing about the ordinary cycle of day and night could chase away the nervous flutter in Harry's stomach.

Against his mother's wish, Draco Malfoy had returned to Hogwarts three days ago. For his lapse of judgement, he was given two months worth of detention, and he accepted the punishment without complaint. Most of the time, he kept his distance from everyone else and observed everything with a calm, detached eye, speaking rarely if at all. What Harry found more unsettling, however, were the occasions when Draco's demeanour relapsed into that of the three spirits.

Harry crumpled the note in his pocket. When he entered the appointed tower, he saw Draco standing before a lattice window halfway up the spiral staircase. Framed by torch light on one side and moonlight on the other, he looked like an apparition lingering in the twilight hour. Cautiously Harry climbed the stairs until he was one stone step away from the other boy, who seemed oblivious to his presence.

"For a long time," Draco said, which gave Harry a start, "it is forbidden to light new fire in the dark hours of Hallowe'en, for the light will attract the dead." An undercurrent simmered beneath the calm. "You lit candles after midnight on Hallowe'en, didn't you?"

Harry frowned at the other boy. "Yeah, I did, but I couldn't remember precisely what time that was."

"Then it is probable that you and I chose to honour the dead around the same time. Bloody coincidence, isn't it?" Draco let out a hollow chuckle, which sounded uncannily like Sirius. "Still, whether it was your intention or not, what is done is done."

The implication behind those words began to take shape in Harry's mind, but his tongue got the better of him. "What are you trying to say?"

Torches died a swift death as if a veil had been thrown over them; everything was shrouded in semi-darkness. In the midst of shadows, storm grey eyes turned ever so slowly towards him, nailing him to the very ground he stood on. Despite his best effort, Harry could not help but swallow nervously.

"Ignorance is bliss, or so they say," Draco remarked, crooking his head in a manner reminiscent of the late Augustus Grindelwald. "One can always be forgiven for being ignorant, whereas many have been persecuted for knowing too much."

Draco's evasiveness irked Harry to the point where his apprehension gave way to agitation. "Can you stop speaking in riddle and just say it? What do you want from me? What is the Blessing?"

At those words, anger danced across Draco's face like a flame, melting away the facade of calculated indifference the young Slytherin had adopted. Without warning, a chill that had nothing to do with the weather descended upon the interior of the tower. Shivering beneath his thin black robe, Harry let out a misty breath. As though he suddenly remembered himself, Draco passed a hand over his eyes, and the cold was lifted.

"The Blessing is a pledge," Draco said in a low but clear voice, his expression tranquil once more. His wrath from before could have been a lie. "From now on, you are under the protection of the Malfoy family. We shall do whatever it takes to protect you."

Shocked beyond belief, Harry lost his voice. Once he had recovered some semblance of wit, he demanded, "Why? Why would your grandfather want you to protect me?"

Grey eyes flickered as if a disturbance had passed through their depths. "The less you know about my grandfather's motive, the better. You'll only be disappointed."

"He wanted to take down Voldemort," Harry noted that Draco did not even blink when he heard the Dark Lord's name. "Is that the reason?"

"You may think the world revolves around you, but you forget one thing. Your vendetta against Voldemort does not necessarily mean all that happens around you is between you and him alone." Draco's voice was encrusted with frost before it turned into a bitter laugh. "Then again, the Malfoy Blessing is both a blessing and a curse. I suppose I shall get my satisfaction in the end."

Trapped in an unsettling feeling he could not quite explain, Harry clutched his fists and peered intently at Draco's face. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"You shall find out soon enough."

A blur of black descended upon Harry like a bird of prey, hands thrusting out at him as though meaning to strangle him. Letting out a gasp in surprise, he lost his balance and fell backward down the spiral staircase. He caught a glimpse of cool grey eyes and fluttering blond hair before creatures of the dark leapt down from the shadow of the dome and ripped apart his face in glee-

Cool fingers gently tilted his chin upward; a pair of mirror-like eyes contemplated him as if nothing else on this earth was worthy of their attention. Startled out of his nightmarish reverie, Harry found he was standing on the same stone step as before; he had neither fallen nor moved. Nevertheless, his heart pounded loudly against his chest, his brow covered in cold sweat; his body remembered the sensation of the descent as though the fall was real.

"Be careful, Harry Potter." Soft and remote was Draco's tone that Harry imagined some other creature was speaking through his mouth. "Those who have caught a glimpse of what is hidden behind the veil will be inexplicably drawn to it."

Harry stared at the other boy, whose words of warning barely registered in his chaotic mind. Breaking away from him, Draco gave him a curt nod and brushed past him, an enigmatic smile gracing upon those pale lips of his as he uttered, "I'll see you later, Harry Potter."

Draco descended the steps with the gliding grace of a bird in a swoop. By the time Harry recollected himself, the other boy had already reached the bottom of the staircase.

"Malfoy!" Harry leant over the railings and yelled, but Draco neither answered nor looked up.

Gritting his teeth, he was about to run after the other boy when something black fluttered downwards before his eyes, freezing him on his track. As soon as Draco Malfoy's silhouette vanished into the corridor, all the torches were once more ablaze, illuminating the object on the ground. When Harry recognised what the object was, his face grew pale. A sense of foreboding crawled into his mind and stole away every shard of warmth left in him.

Lying on the pale stone step like a black lily on a coffin was a feather so glossy it gleamed the darkest of indigo.

* * *

_Finis._

[1] From the nursery rhyme, "Ring around the rosie, a pocket full of posies. Ashes, ashes, we all fall down." Other variations of the rhyme also exist.

A/N: The revised epilogue is shorter than the original. Draco is acting a little more mature here, but he deliberately withhold a lot of information from Harry.


	6. Bridge

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and its characters are not mine. The poem "Le Poison" belongs to Charles Baudelaire.

A/N: The revised semi-preview to the sequel, _Ravens Cry in Dissonance._

**When the Black Veil Flutters**

_Bridge: May darkness bring solace to you._

One December night in the headmaster's office, Albus Dumbledore was reading a certain tattered black book he had taken from a student of his. Candlelight fell upon the page, unnecessarily accenting the discoloration of the paper. Gently he ran his fingertip over each word, hovering just far enough from the page so that he would not smear the decades old ink. How long had it been since he last beheld the handwriting of his old friend, he mused.

Were he decades younger, he might not have the courage to pick up this book, for the knowledge this book offered was far too tempting that he feared he would succumb to its lure. And now, one of his pupils was stricken by the same curiosity his old friend once possessed, the same curiosity that eventually drove his friend mad. Even though he did not believe in fate, he wondered if such a coincidence could indeed exist.

The lines on his brow deepened like cracks forming across an ancient tombstone. Grey and weary he was, his eyes downcast and his face shrivelled despite his recent recovery. On this night, he was neither the champion of light nor the headmaster of Hogwarts; he was a tired old man lost in his reminiscence.

In barely a whisper, he called out to the one who would not answer him, "Augustus, are you going to lead another down the forlorn path of destruction you once trod?"

* * *

Down in the cold, candlelit dungeon, Severus Snape was also reading a book. A small red book it was, the leather cover stained with substance only the potion master himself could recognise. Spidery words clustered together on ivory pages; sketches of potion ingredients at times interrupted the text. Slowly he leafed through the pages, not to savour his accomplishment, but to delay looking upon the sin he had committed.

At last, he came across the remnant of pages being ripped from the book. Although those missing pages had long since been destroyed, he could still recall those words that marked his arrogance and regret. Certain things ought never to be created; certain knowledge ought to remain in the dark. He had kept too many secrets for too long; perhaps it was time at last for him to receive his judgement.

After snapping the book shut, he dropped it onto the desk as though the cover burnt his hands. And by the desk he sat, clutching the mark on his arm and recalling to mind the ghosts that haunted his steps to this very day.

* * *

In one of many chambers within the Riddle House, the Dark Lord Voldemort sat on his throne by the blazing fireplace, contemplating the flame in silence. His spidery white fingers clasped around a glass goblet, which was filled with a liquid red as the sunset. Those blood red eyes of his seemed glazed as he thought about all that he had heard from his servant.

However brief it may be, _that man _had returned to the world of the living, a feat engineered by the heir of Lucius Malfoy. Who would have thought that what he had lost was in fact in the possession of one of his servants? Swirling the goblet in his hand, Voldemort stroked his chin with one long finger. The chess piece he had been prepared to discard might turn out to be useful after all.

Like a predator staring at a felled prey, he curled his lips into a humorless smile. "Well then, young Mr Malfoy." He raised his goblet heavenward in a mocking salute. "We shall see what you are truly capable of."

* * *

Many miles away in the open sea, the formidable Azkaban prison stood in solitude on the isle like a pillar protruded from hell. Waves crashed against the shore with little mercy, drowning out every sound but one. Within the stone tower that had borne witness to blood-soaked history, a cold, terrible laughter echoed across the empty corridor. Full of mockery and madness was the sound that it chilled the blood of every man and beast on this lonely isle.

As abruptly as it began, the laughter ceased as if someone had slit open the throat of the madman. Nevertheless, he was still alive, for he could no longer die now that the wheel of his undoing was set in motion, unable to die until he had served his purpose.

Hoarse chuckles escaped his throat before the sound transformed into words. "Draco, if you find it in yourself to seek revenge on me, then by all means." Harsh grey eyes fixated upon rusty metal and crumbling stone, but no one responded to his challenge. "By all means, kill me."

* * *

On the makeshift bed the Weasleys had kindly provided for him, Harry Potter was dreaming of a certain veil once more. Music and laughter trickled through as if a lively soiree was taking place beyond the arched threshold. When he swept the veil aside, however, an empty great hall decked in marble and moonlight greeted him. Puzzled, he peered into every dark corner, searching for a certain individual; nevertheless, he detected no sign of life.

_Who am I looking for? _He suddenly wondered, unable to recall a name or even a face. _Why am I searching for them?_ Memory slipped past his grasp like quicksand. _Where am I? _The last thought running through his mind before the scenery corroded like acid on paper was: _Why does this place look familiar?_

In the next moment, he was strolling on the cobblestone street of midnight London; and yet, it was unlike the London he remembered. Gaslight lined up along the deserted street, its circular light floating in the air like countless skulls. Antiquated shops remained half-hidden in the shadow; an empty carriage stood abandoned up ahead, horses missing from the harnesses.

A pair of arms suddenly caught him from behind, holding him in place. The rational part of him knew he ought to be startled, frightened even, but his body yielded to the embrace as though he could no longer stand on his own. Ever so tenderly, his captor caressed his face and whispered into his ear, "_'All that is not equal to the poison which flows from your eyes, your green eyes, lakes where my soul trembles and sees its evil side...'_" _[1]_

* * *

Leaning on the sill of an open window in the manor-house, Draco Malfoy cast the letter onto the small round table, which held a single burning candle. A second later, the letter was engulfed in flame, leaving behind a pile of ashes soon scattered by the wind. Neither the content nor the author of the letter surprised him; he only wondered why the writer took so long in sending his regards.

After letting out a breath, he surveyed the grounds of the Malfoy estate, above which the sickle moon languished. The ephemeral glow of the moon was captured in his eyes, but it could not smooth away the frown on his brow. His chest began to burn once more, the pain reminding him of a past forgotten and an oath remembered. Gritting his teeth, he thrust his arm outwards. The candle, which became the nearest victim to his temper, was beheaded, the severed top falling into the pool of wax, its light extinguished.

At the same time, a raven materialised out of the midnight air and landed on his arm, its beady eyes staring expectantly at him. As if fearful of waking the dead, Draco said in a low voice, "Bring back the news of that accursed bloodline to me."

The raven regarded him for a moment before taking flight in a rustle of black feathers. As he watched the bird disappear into the velvet sky, he thought he could hear a whisper in the wind, a gentle whisper not unlike temptation from the devil himself.

_"Will you allow me to play Mephistopheles to your Faust?"_

* * *

_When the black veil flutters, ravens cry in dissonance._

* * *

_To be continued in Ravens Cry in Dissonance..._

[1] From Charles Baudelaire's poem, "Le Poison". English translation by William Aggeler.

A/N: A snapshot of what happened to individual characters after _Black Veil _and before the start of _Ravens_.I've thrown in more hints concerning what will be (or has been) revealed in _Ravens_. That line from Charles Baudelaire wasn't supposed to make an appearance yet, but I figured it would not hurt to include it here.

With this, the revision to _When the Black Veil Flutters _is complete. Work on _Ravens _had come to a stall because I wanted to revise _Black Veil _first, which took me longer than I had anticipated. I'll start working on the revision for _Ravens _and possibly the new chapter next. Thank you very much for reading.


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